


Malicious Intent

by Smuffly



Category: CSI: NY
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Lab-based mystery, Teamwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 31,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26422051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smuffly/pseuds/Smuffly
Summary: Spiteful letters are bad enough.  But what happens when the problem escalates?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place in Season Five, between the episodes 'My Name is Mac Taylor' and 'The Box'.

Adam Ross would never admit it to anyone else, but lightning storms still bothered him. In Arizona, where he grew up, they had rolled around the open sky, revelling in their power. Here in Manhattan, they tore through the city, a power surge in a giant circuit, wild and out of control. He feared them, but he also felt compelled to watch them, wide-eyed, from the relative safety of the 35th floor.

Pressing his forehead against the glass, he gazed out across the skyline and wondered what it would feel like to be out there, riding the thunderclouds. Behind him, the lab receded as his mind reached out through the first drops of shuddering rain...

"Adam!"

He jumped, and banged his head. The noise made Stella wince.

"I'm so sorry." She hurried towards him down the empty corridor. "Are you okay?"

"Oh... yes, I'm fine." He ducked his head and flushed, as he gave a shy smile. "You startled me, that's all." Adam gestured to the scene outside. "I was distracted."

"So I see." Stella moved to stand beside her friend at the window. "I love storms."

Adam bit his lip as lightning flashed across the sky once more, sharpening the planes of her elegant profile. Watching the woman instead of the storm, he thought he understood why such an elemental force attracted her. _Like calling to like,_ sighed the man, wondering what kind of weather he would be.

_Probably fog._

Another jagged bolt threw Manhattan into stark relief. Stella counted under her breath. When the distant rumble came at last, she turned and smiled at Adam. "It's going away now."

"Oh," he said, trying to seem unconcerned and failing miserably. He could see that Stella wasn't taken in, so he offered a halting explanation. "I was left... um, caught in a storm once. When I was a kid. It was... well, I didn't really enjoy it." Catching her eye, he grinned at last. "I looked like a drowned rat. Not a pretty sight."

Stella shook her head. "No need to explain." With a neat change of subject, she looked down at his restless hands, which were toying with an empty mug. "Finished your break? I need you to run a search for me." She handed him a folder.

"Oh - sure. No problem." Forcing his breath past the bottleneck that seemed to have formed in his throat, Adam offered up another foolish grin.

"Thank you." Stella dragged herself away from the window with some reluctance and set off down the corridor, smiling briefly over her shoulder in lieu of a goodbye. The lab tech stared after her without really meaning to. Stella was so far out of his league, it was ridiculous. But he couldn't help admiring her. She was the highlight of every day and that was enough for him.

Dumping his mug in the kitchen sink, he scurried along to the AV lab and plonked himself down on the seat that he had come to regard as 'his'. It rolled to the side, and he grabbed the desk, halting his slide before he crashed into the window. Luckily, Adam was all alone, so no one else witnessed his near-disaster. Across the corridor, Mac sat in his office, delving through mountains of paperwork with a 'do not disturb' expression. Adam sighed, full of sympathy. Sometimes, sitting here, he felt as though he were watching over the boss - not that he would ever admit as much to Mac. Computer searches were long and dull, leaving the lab tech plenty of time for quiet observation...

Mac looked up.

Instantly, Adam lowered his head and tried to look desperately busy. As a result, he missed the tiny smile that flitted across the older man's face. Reaching out for Stella's folder, he pulled it towards him. From beneath it, something else came too, dropping to the floor with a tiny _thunk_.

_Where did that come from?_

The envelope was red and square. Bending down, Adam snagged it between his finger and thumb. It felt thick, and was clearly made from quality paper. On the front, written in smooth black ink, were two bold letters.

_A. R._

Adam Ross.

For a moment, his heart beat faster as he wondered if it had fallen out of Stella's folder, left there for him to find. _Foolish, Adam,_ he scolded himself. _That's not even her style._ Oh well - only one way to find out where it had come from. Tearing neatly across the top, he pulled out the two sheets of creamy white paper that nestled inside, and unfolded them.

Moments later, he dropped them back on the floor, pale-faced and trembling.

They lurked there, full of poison, taunting him. He didn't need to read them again. The words were already burned into his brain - the curse of an excellent memory.

On the first sheet were a couple of lines, brief and deceptively simple:

_You watch them.  
_ _So do I.  
You crawl and squirm,  
desperate for their friendship.  
I see who they really are.  
Do you?_

The next page was far worse.

_Goddess? Or Gorgon?  
_ _Perhaps you think she cares about you.  
_ _She tolerates you because she has to.  
_ _Takes what she needs  
_ _and placates you like a child  
_ _with sugary words and easy smiles.  
_ _Queen B stalks the corridors,  
forcing her opinions onto everyone.  
'Do as I say, not as I do.'  
Selfish, reckless.  
Arrogant.  
Pride comes before a fall._

Adam felt physically sick. Who could have written such malicious words - and why, oh why did they send it to him, of all people?

One thing was certain - he couldn't let Stella see it. Shame burned across Adam's cheeks as he snatched up the hated letter and shoved it into his pocket. The envelope followed quickly. He leapt to his feet and darted from the room.


	2. Chapter 2

Adam rammed the poisonous letter deep into his locker, burying it out of sight - but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get it out of his mind. Bitter echoes haunted him everywhere he went. He dreaded meeting Stella again. For most of the afternoon, he hid behind the trio of computer screens, afraid to catch anyone's eye. Fortunately, Stella's search was a complex one, and he lost himself in an online maze of connecting pathways and devious dead ends. When at last he raised his head, dazed and blinking, he found that his strategy had failed.

The woman stood right behind him. And now there was no escape.

He cleared his throat nervously. "Hey, Stella. Um... nearly done. Sorry it took so long."

"Don't apologise, Adam. I can see how hard you've been working." She glared at him with friendly disapproval "You know, you really shouldn't strain your eyes like that. Health and safety demands that you take a break now and then. I should know - it's my job."

_Queen B stalks the corridors..._

Adam flinched. "I lost track of time," he muttered. "Sorry."

"Of course you did. I know that, Adam. It happens to us all. Just take better care of yourself, okay?" Stella favoured him with a generous smile. "You do know how much you're valued here, don't you?"

"So valued that they gave me my notice," Adam grumbled before he could stop himself. Now it was Stella's turn to flinch.

"Please don't feel that way. It was never about your job performance. The person who wrote that letter was simply looking at names on paper. We need you. You know that, right?"

He gave in. Anything to end this conversation. "Sure, Stella. And I'll take a break, if that's what you want me to do."

Rising from his seat, he tried to brush past her but the woman held out her hand and grabbed his arm. "What's wrong?" she asked him, full of concern.

_Sugary words and easy smiles..._

"I'm fine," he gasped, as he wrenched away and darted from the room.

**-x0x-**

Stella was speechless. Staring across the corridor, she saw that Mac's face was puzzled too. Clearly, he had witnessed the altercation. He beckoned her into his office.

"What's going on?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Beats me. One minute, we're fine. The next, he can barely look me in the eye."

"He does seem a little jumpy." Catching himself, Mac smiled. "More than usual, I mean. Leave it to me. I'll have a word with him."

Stella tried to imagine how that conversation might go. "Try not to make it feel like an interrogation," she warned. "You know what effect you have on him."

Mac's innocent expression was just a little too careful. "Stella, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't." She shook her head. "Sometimes, Mac Taylor, you can be a very wicked man."

**-x0x-**

When Adam came back from the locker room, with the front of his tangled hair suspiciously damp and his blue eyes darting from side to side, he found Mac waiting for him in the doorway of his office.

"Adam? A word..."

"Wh-what? I mean, okay boss. But... now?" His tension radiated outwards. Maybe it was contagious, because Mac looked as though he were trying to keep his deadpan expression under control.

"Yes, now. Come in. Sit down."

Obediently, the lab tech edged into the room. He looked around him, uncertain which chair to choose. Was this a dressing-down for some forgotten or unnoticed crime? If so, then that would mean the upright chair in front of the boss's desk. Or was it a friendly chat, man-to-man? Unlikely, but not impossible. Adam gazed at the couch with longing, hoping for the best.

Mac nodded patiently.

Relieved, the lab tech perched on the very edge of the seat, watching his boss pace back and forth. "What is it?" he asked, unable to wait any longer. "What did I do?"

"What makes you think you're in trouble?" Shaking his head, Mac sat down beside him. "Adam, I'm worried about you. So is Stella."

A wary expression flitted across Adam's face. "Oh - ah, thanks. But I'm okay. Just tired, I guess."

Mac dug in his heels. Adam knew just how stubborn he could be. "You ran out on her, Adam. And earlier on, you burst out of the AV lab as if your ass was on fire."

"You saw that?" Adam cringed. Denial was going to be harder than he thought. _Maybe I should just tell him..._ But the very idea of showing that venomous letter to another person filled him with revulsion. And what if Mac told Stella? Adam pictured her face and knew that he simply couldn't be the cause of such distress. Better to pretend it never happened. He tightened his resolve, and his blue eyes widened.

"Bathroom break," he offered. "Too much caffeine, boss. You know how that goes... I'm sorry if you guys got the wrong idea. I'll apologise to Stella, if you like."

"No need." Mac frowned at him. "Adam - are you sure?"

"Pretty sure," grinned the lab tech, full of false humour. "I promise I'll try to cut down."

Mac took a deep breath, readying himself for another assault. But he never got the chance. At that very moment, a loud cry rang out, followed by a crash, and both men leapt up, startled.

It was Stella.

They ran down the hall to the office she shared with the others. Quite a crowd had gathered already, anonymous lab techs in white coats, milling together like a flock of sheep. Mac pushed past them. Adam hung back and peered through the window.

"I'm fine." Stella gave a giddy laugh as her curly head rose up from behind her desk. It was painfully clear what had happened. The seat of her chair had come away from the base and dropped her abruptly onto the floor.

"You banged your head," Mac said quietly, lifting his hand and touching a gentle thumb to the angry mark across her temple. Stella winced.

"I'm sure it looks worse than it is," she told him blithely, trying to scramble to her feet. Mac stopped her, with a stern look on his face.

"Wait for a moment. Better safe than sorry."

Stella must have been feeling worse than she let on because she bowed her head in submission and stayed where she was. Waving the crowd away, Mac noticed Adam, still hovering in the background.

"She's fine. Don't worry. Fetch the first aid kit."

"Yes, boss." Adam spoke automatically. He couldn't bring himself to move away. A single phrase was echoing in his head, and it terrified him.

_Pride comes before a fall..._


	3. Chapter 3

That night, Adam barely slept a wink. Afraid of driving in such a state, he rode the subway to work the next morning, still in a trance. It was instinct alone that threw him out at the right station. Inside his head, a battle was raging. He muttered to himself as he stalked along the street, heading for the tower that held the Crime Lab. People stared at him oddly and gave him a wide berth, but he never noticed.

"My fault," he grumbled, mentally slapping his forehead. "I should have told them. But... how could that have stopped it? Or maybe it _was_ an accident. Coincidences happen all the time. Unless the chair was rigged..."

_I should have told them._

Too late now, though. Luckily, Stella was going to be fine. Mac had ordered her to take a day off, and so Adam wouldn't have to face her today - a mixed blessing. At least she wouldn't be there to see the guilt in his eyes. Adam knew that, if she pressed him, eventually he would break. And yet, the thought of revealing the letter to Stella filled him with despair. He just couldn't do it.

Mac, now. That was a different story.

Adam was starting to feel overwhelmed. Arriving in the lobby, he rode the elevator up to the 35th floor. As the doors slid open and he stared at the workplace he normally loved so much, his mind was still full of indecision. He tried to step into the corridor but his reactions were far too slow. The doors slammed into him angrily, then pulled away. He stumbled out, rubbing his shoulder.

"Are you alright?" asked a friendly voice.

One of the lab techs reached out her hand and woke him from his dream. He stared at her, blinking. Brown eyes, mousy hair. A face full of freckles. Adam searched for a name.

Emma? Emily?

Elsa...

"Thank you," he said with a laugh. "I'm fine. Hazards of being me, I'm afraid. I'm always doing that."

"Me too." She giggled, and let him be. Curiously, he watched her amble down the corridor and into the Trace lab. Her gait was awkward, not unlike his.

"You could do worse, buddy," said a voice behind him. Adam jumped.

"Stop sneaking up on me," he complained, but a twinkle was in his eye as he glared at Danny. "And really, she's not my type."

"Why not? You're two of a kind."

"That's the problem. Think of it, Danny, okay? Stop and imagine if Lindsay was just like you. What then?"

"Yeah - Lindsay." Danny shrugged, and changed the subject. Even Adam could sense that there was something unspoken lingering in the air, but he didn't press. _Not my place,_ he told himself. _Everyone's entitled to their secrets. Right?_

Which brought him straight back round to the letter again.

"Any news of Stella?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably. Fortunately, Danny took no notice. The benefit of having a reputation for erratic behaviour.

"Sore head, Mac says. Nothing worse. And a day off. Maybe I should try falling off my chair, if that's what it takes to get me some down-time." Danny slapped his friend on the back. "You look like _you_ need it. What's with the circles under your eyes?"

"Bad dreams," Adam lied. _I wish._ In order to dream, you actually needed to sleep. He nodded farewell to Danny and headed off to the locker room. Time to splash his face with water. Again. And a nice big mug of coffee, strong and black. That ought to help.

**-x0x-**

Luckily, Mac was out on a call. Adam worked through the morning with dogged determination, trying to fight his worries with the dubious technique known as 'ignoring them'. Split concentration was never a good thing, but Adam had plenty of practice and nobody spotted that he was quieter than usual. With a mountain of tasks to keep him occupied, for a little while he was almost happy. But still, in the corner of his mind lurked the poisonous letter, burning him slowly with its acid touch.

Midday arrived at last, and he made his way back to his locker. Finding it ajar, he paused in surprise. _Did I do that?_ He was bothered by the thought, but knew how likely it was. The door swung open - and Adam gasped in horror.

There, perched smugly in front of his lunch, was another red envelope.

_Oh God. Not again._

And suddenly, just like that, his mind was made up.

Snatching up the second letter, he reached into the depths of his locker and pulled out its crumpled twin. With both now in hand, he fled from the room, hoping against all hope that Mac had returned.

To Adam's utter relief, his boss was sitting at his desk. Mac looked up as the lab tech burst through his door, forgetting to knock in his desperation.

"What's happened?" Mac demanded, startled. Adam staggered to a halt and gazed at his boss, open-mouthed, like a codfish.

Great. _Now_ he was lost for words. "Um..." he faltered. "Well..."

Mac tapped his fingers impatiently. "Adam. I'm busier than you can possibly imagine. This had better be good."

"It is," gulped the lab tech. _Actions speak louder,_ he thought, and he threw the first letter down in front of his boss. "I got this yesterday," he said, by way of an explanation. "On my desk. You... um, please could you read it?"

A slow change passed over Mac's face, from exasperation to concern, as he followed the dark lines all the way to their ominous conclusion. With a hiss, he dropped the pages, flicking them away from him in disgust. "That's wicked," he snapped. Looking up, Mac stared at Adam, whose cheeks were crimson. Watching the poison spread had been even worse than the lab tech imagined. As though he could sense this, Mac controlled his temper and spoke more gently. "Does Stella know?"

"Of course not!" The words exploded from Adam's mouth. "And you mustn't show her, okay? Promise, boss."

"I can't do that," Mac said, with a regretful sigh. He glanced down at Adam's hands, and the second envelope, which was in danger of being torn apart by the young man's restless fingers. "Is that another one?"

Adam held it out.

"In my locker," he said. "I didn't open it."

Both men studied it, full of foreboding. Mac checked his desk drawers, pulling out a pair of latex gloves and a penknife. Once he had donned the gloves, he began to slide the blade through the top of the envelope, causing as little damage as he possibly could. Adam held his breath.

This time, there was only one sheet of paper. "It's addressed to you," said Mac. His words were more of a query than a statement, but he already knew the answer to his question.

"Be my guest." Even as he spoke, Adam felt a tug of morbid fascination and he leaned across Mac's desk. In the end, they read the lines together, silent and serious

_Taylor's pet dog,  
_ _Sniffing at his heels.  
_ _A scruffy mongrel,  
Ill-bred and ill-mannered.  
Trying to straddle two worlds;  
Master of none.  
Let the jester laugh while he can.  
This dog has had his day._

"What does that mean?" Adam gasped. "That last line?"

"I don't know." Mac's face was more than usually grim.

"Is it... is it Danny?" The lab tech hated to assign such words to any friend of his, but the meaning was bitterly clear and it wasn't much of a leap to guess who the writer was talking about.

Nodding, Mac laid down the letter. "We have to tell him. Stella's broken chair may have been a simple accident, but the timing is far too suspicious for my liking. Which means that Danny could be in danger too. You did well, Adam, bringing these to me. I know how hard it must have been for you."

Adam was far too concerned about his friend to take much notice of Mac's praise - but a tiny part of him stored it away in his memory, warm and safe, to treasure later.

"What now?" he asked.

Mac stood up. "I'm going to find Danny. Take the letters back and run every test you can think of. I want to know just who thinks they can write such bile about my team and get away with it..."


	4. Chapter 4

"You think I should be scared of - what? A poem?" Danny grinned at his boss, expecting Mac to share the joke. When that didn't happen, he shook his head, unsettled. "You're not kidding, are you? Okay, explain it to me. I'm listening."

Adam stood between them, gazing from one man to the other. Danny's reaction was not what he had predicted. Such hateful words, and all he could do was laugh? Not for the first time, Adam wished he had even a portion of his colleague's self-confidence.

Closing the door to the Questioned Documents lab, Mac turned back to Danny. "What happened to Stella yesterday may not have been an accident after all," he said grimly. "Show him the first letter, Adam."

Reluctantly, the lab tech stepped aside. Danny moved in and began to read, mouthing the words as his eyes flicked back and forth. When he had finished, he gave a low whistle.

"That's just plain nasty. What kind of coward writes dirt like that and sends it to other people? Has Stella seen this?"

"No." Adam shook his head with a violent motion. Danny stared at him in astonishment.

"You didn't show her?"

"Would you? If it was just the letter, I mean? How was I supposed to know that she'd get hurt?" _Except that I should have done, somehow._ The guilt continued to eat away at him - Stella's pale face peering over the desk - but he kept it to himself.

"Calm down," Danny told him. "You're right, I suppose. The point is, are we going to tell her now?"

"No, Danny," Mac insisted firmly. "The point is, how do we stop something equally nasty happening to you?" He tilted his head and moved his focus to Adam. "What have you found so far?"

The lab tech pulled a gloomy face. He hated letting Mac down. But really, whoever had written these letters knew exactly what they were doing. "Not much, I'm afraid. No fingerprints, or epithelials - other than mine, of course - so our 'poet' must have known to wear gloves. The paper's expensive, but sold in stores all over the city - not to mention on the internet. No way to track down who bought it. As for the ink in our poisoned pen - high end, but also readily available." Adam sighed. "The penmanship is skilful. Pure calligraphy, in fact, which means that every letter is perfect. Nothing stands out, okay, and without a reference sample..." He tailed off in frustration, smacking the side of his leg with his fist.

"I understand." Disappointment lurked behind Mac's words, but he gave the lab tech a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Adam. They may be clever - but you're determined. And I have faith that you'll find something."

"What about Stella's chair?" Danny asked. "Did anyone take a look at that?"

"It's already been replaced. I'd like you to track it down without arousing suspicion. We need to keep this whole thing low key - for Stella's sake, and for yours."

Danny shrugged. "I'm not worried. Rigging someone's chair to collapse is just petty. I doubt this creep has the balls to do something truly dangerous. What about Adam?"

"What _about_ me?" The lab tech twitched.

Both men turned and stared at him. "You think he could be a target too?" Mac said thoughtfully.

"Why are the letters coming to him? This person has to be seriously unhinged. What if they've taken some kind of a sick fancy to him?"

Adam frowned, his temper rising with his anxiety. "It always comes down to _that_ with you, doesn't it, Danny? Am I such a joke to you? A ridiculous clown, who can't get a date unless it's with another geek, or a psychopath?"

"Adam!" Mac's voice rang out. "That's enough."

Blushing to the roots of his hair, Adam regretted his words as soon as they had left his mouth. But he couldn't take them back. He could only apologise - and he did so in a state of utter confusion and distress.

"Oh... oh God, I'm sorry, Danny. I didn't mean it. I'm just tired, okay? That must be it, 'cos I didn't sleep a wink last night. Not that I'm making excuses, but really - you're not _too_ mad at me, are you?" His woebegone face was so comical that Danny let out a friendly chuckle.

"Don't be an idiot, Adam. You think my mouth never runs away from me? 'Ill-mannered' - that's me alright." He pulled a face. "Maybe our friend has a point."

"Don't say that." Mac moved in front of the letters, blocking them from view. "If you let the words take hold, they'll torture you. Don't give them that power. If you do, he's won."

"He or she," Adam reminded them. "There's no gender bias for spite."

"If my 'secret love' theory turns out to be correct, you'd better hope it's a girl," quipped Danny - but the wink he gave to Adam was full of warmth and, this time, the lab tech saw the joke for what it was.

"Hehehe," he mocked, in a fine imitation of Danny's laugh.

**-x0x-**

Maintenance had its own set of rooms down the corridor from Autopsy. As soon as the budget crisis had reared its ugly head, Sinclair and his financial lackeys had whittled down the janitorial staff until there were only four employees left - two for the day shift and two for the nights. When Danny knocked on the door, it was the day shift supervisor who answered promptly. _Supervisor of one,_ sighed Danny, taking in the guy's pristine appearance. Unusual for a janitor. Even his coveralls had creases ironed into the legs. The young man stared back, full of self-possession, waiting for Danny to speak.

"Can I come? Danny," he added, by way of a late introduction. "Messer. I'm one of the CSIs here."

"I know who you are," said the man. His voice was cultured, and controlled.

Danny slipped past him - and rocked on his heels as he gazed around the workshop. The place was immaculate, a shrine to cleanliness. Every rack of tools was loaded according to size and purpose. Storage bins were lined up so that items could be sorted before disposal or recycling. Someone's printer had been working overtime, making snippy little posters to adorn the walls, and labels for the containers. The white floor gleamed, and a strong scent of pine filled the room. "This your work?" asked Danny, full of confused admiration.

"It is." The janitor's voice was proud.

"Then I'm pretty sure you'll be able to help me." Danny peered down at the man's breast pocket and quirked his eyebrow. "Marley. That a first name or a last name?"

"Nickname, actually." Checking his watch, the man tried not to look impatient. "What can I do for you, Mr. Messer?"

"Detective, actually." Sensing Marley's thinly veiled distaste, the CSI dropped his friendly act and got straight down to business. "I'm looking for a chair."

"Then may I politely suggest that you're in the wrong place? Try requisitions. Or a furniture store."

Danny's hackles rose further.

"No. Not a new chair. An old one. From Stella Bonasera's office. It broke yesterday, and I'd like to take a look at it."

"Why? Think you can fix it?"

 _Keep a low profile,_ Danny told himself urgently. _Don't get mad..._ With Mac Taylor frowning inside his head, he managed to rein in his temper. "It was her favourite chair, okay? I promised her I'd take a look."

"Very well." Relenting at last, Marley ducked into a nearby closet. Moments later, he returned, holding the seat and the base of Stella's chair in two separate halves. "Is this what you need?"

"Thank you," Danny sighed. "I'll score some serious points for this."

"Don't mention it." The janitor's words were polite but his expression was stiff. Once more, he looked at his watch.

Gratefully, Danny took the hint and fled from the room, clutching his prize to his chest.

**-x0x-**

Back in the friendly corridors of the main lab, he slowed his pace and steadied his breath - until a hand on his shoulder made him jump.

"Danny," said Sheldon urgently. "Where have you been?"

The doctor's eager face was unusually troubled. Clearly, something was wrong. "Why? What's up?"

"Flack's just arrived and he's on the warpath. He wants to see _you_. Danny, what on earth did you do?"

"I... nothing, I don't think." Grammar went out of the window as Danny searched his conscience for any possible misdemeanour. "Where is he now?"

"With Mac. They're waiting for you." Sheldon grimaced. "Want me to tag along?"

Gloomily, Danny shook his head. "That's kind of you, buddy. But no. Whatever this is, okay, I doubt you want to get involved. Besides, it's probably just a misunderstanding of some kind..." He lifted the two broken halves of the chair and thrust them at an extremely startled Sheldon. "Here - take these for me, would you? I'll pick 'em up later. If I come out alive, that is..."

Joking aside, it wasn't until he reached the door to Mac's office and saw Don pacing like a tiger that Danny really began to panic.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the glass.

"Come in," said his boss, with a frown - and Danny entered.


	5. Chapter 5

Sometimes, Adam really wished that he could be a fly on Mac Taylor's wall. Watching was one thing, but silent movies never held the same thrill for him as talkies - and right now, he would love to know exactly why Detective Flack's face was so angry.

Grabbing a couple of folders to disguise his intent, he nipped around the corner and pressed his ear to the panel; a recognised spot for anyone wishing to eavesdrop on the boss. It was there that he had overheard Stella, less than a month ago, telling Mac that, as much as she loved Adam - and oh, how he clung to that phrase - they had no choice but to let him go. That a robot, of all things, was more important to the crime lab than he was. Adam had staggered away from the wall, more deeply hurt than he could ever explain. Since then, he had somehow managed to gain a reprieve. He could only assume that his boss had something to do with that. Mac's strong words still echoed inside the lab tech's head. _Works his ass off... I'll take Adam every time..._ It was the kind of praise that he had always dreamed of. Too bad he had to hear it under such circumstances.

Right now, though, it was Danny who stood in disbelief as Flack marched up to him.

"What the hell were you thinking, Messer? Or maybe you didn't think at all? Humour I get, but if this is a joke, it's in very poor taste. You're not leaving this room till I get an explanation."

"Don. Please - hang on, buddy. I don't understand."

Adam had never heard the confident Danny sound so uncomfortable. More lab techs gathered around, full of interest, as the confrontation blundered on like a train wreck waiting to happen.

Mac's voice spoke quietly. "Why don't you just explain it to us? What's got you so upset?"

"Upset?"

Leaning past the wall, Adam took a risk and peeked through the window. He watched as Detective Flack thrust a printout at the head of the crime lab. Mac scanned it quickly and let out a withering laugh.

"This is nonsense," he said.

"What?" cried Danny, sounding desperate by now.

Mac handed him the paper. Adam's curiosity was gratified, as Danny began to read it out loud.

"'Riddle of the day. A cop and a CSI walk into a crime scene. Which of them walks out without a clue...?'"

"Answer?" Don's tone was dangerous, as Danny faltered and he took over. "'The cop, of course. He never had one to begin with.'"

"Hehehe," laughed Danny nervously. He couldn't help himself. "So, it's a really bad joke. So what?"

"So what?" Don stared at him coldly. "This email was sent to my computer thirty minutes ago. _And_ to every detective in the precinct. _And_ to the front desk... How long d'you think it took before every cop in the building had seen it? By now, I imagine, it's pinned to every noticeboard of every precinct in New York City. Are you trying to commit professional suicide? Please, Danny, tell me that you didn't do this..."

"What?" The CSI paled. "Of course not! Are you kidding? You know me better than that." He peered back down at the paper. "Mac, it's been sent from my email account. I swear on my _life_ \- I didn't do this. Why would I?"

A tiny movement over Danny's shoulder caught Mac's attention. Crooking his finger and frowning sternly, he beckoned the nervous lab tech inside. Adam inched through the doorway like a guilty schoolboy.

"Were you listening?" Mac demanded.

"I... yes." There was no point in denying it. Adam ducked his head - and then raised it once more, determined to have his say. "Boss - you see it, don't you? It's just like the letter. 'Straddling two worlds' - the crime lab and the precinct. And now all those cops'll kill him if he goes down there..."

"Thanks," muttered Danny. Adam blinked in confusion.

"Sorry," he whispered.

They stared at one another, lost for words. The atmosphere was strained and uncomfortable.

"Okay," said Flack, at last. "I give in. Will somebody please tell me _what_ is going on?"

To his obvious dismay, it was Adam who opened his mouth to begin - but Mac cut in swiftly. "I will," he promised. "Please, Don, believe me - Danny had nothing to do with this prank. Someone is out to tarnish his name. And far worse than that, I'm afraid."

Laying the facts out clearly, he told Don the tale of the letter, and Stella's accident. Adam listened, full of despair, wishing the ground would swallow him up as all three men turned their gaze upon him. Like a ripple effect, the poison was spreading. How would they ever stop it?

"Why him?" asked Don.

"That's just what _I_ said," Danny agreed, relieved that the pressure was off him at last. "Why's Adam so important?"

"Hey!" the lab tech grumbled.

"Sorry," grinned Danny, slapping him on the back. "You're a legend, I know. But what we mean is - and I think I speak for everyone here - why on earth would this twisted jerk send letters like that to _you_ , of all people? Why not Mac? We're his team, after all. What's the connection with you?"

"You're my friends," said Adam softly.

Silence.

Mac gazed upon him with a thoughtful expression. "Yes, we are," he agreed. "Can that be it?"

"I don't buy it." Don shook his head. "No offence, Ross. It's kind of a fluffy explanation." He turned to Danny. "But I do believe that you never wrote the riddle, okay? Somehow, I'm gonna have to explain that to everyone down at the precinct." He grimaced.

"Please don't mention the letters," Adam begged.

Much to his relief, Mac backed him up. "Just say that somebody here had a grudge against Danny and sent it in his name. That's close to the truth."

"Will do." Flack offered up a wary smile, more than a little embarrassed. "Rant over, I suppose. I'd better go back and try to fix this mess. Let me know if you find out who really sent it. I'm sure I can think of a suitable punishment." He tilted his head. "Maybe I'll just stand him in the middle of the bullpen and walk away..."

They watched him leave, feeling shell-shocked. Adam dropped down on the couch. "This is crazy," he sighed.

Danny saw the look on his face and tried to be optimistic. "Maybe this is as far as it goes. Who else would they pick on, after all? Sheldon's a boy scout, and Lindsay..." He tailed off, lost in thought.

"Let's hope so." Mac reached down and gripped Adam's shoulders, raising him up. "Be careful," he told him. "And let me know _at once_ if you find another letter. Promise?"

"Promise," said Adam fervently.

**-x0x-**

"I told you," a loud voice declaimed, as Adam sought his usual sanctuary, the locker room. One of the other lab techs was holding court where Mac couldn't hear him. A few of his colleagues stood round him, slightly removed, as they pretended to be listening. Mostly, they just looked bored. Anthony Farrell was little more than a pompous windbag. Height was his only advantage, as he towered over all of them, red in the face and agitated. "This place is falling to pieces. Everyone's going insane. Thank God I'm leaving, that's all I can say. Giving me my notice was the best thing those jerks ever did."

"That's not what you said at the time," muttered Adam, trying to sidle past the group. Anthony paused.

"Oh - look who's here. It's the Precious One. Mac Taylor's favourite little lab rat. Butt out, Ross. This has nothing to do with you."

"Don't be mean," said Elsa, turning away from the group. The tips of her ears were pink as she crossed the room to stand by Adam. Nudging him, she smiled. "It's good that you're staying," she murmured softly. Her warm breath tickled his cheek. To Adam's surprise, he rather liked it.

"Thanks," he hissed back. "But don't get into trouble on my account."

"No trouble," she replied.

Anthony glared at the pair of them, and turned back to his audience - only to find that most of them had taken the opportunity to leave. Shoulders set, he followed them out, with one last angry glance at Adam and his new ally.

"Fancy a chocolate bar?" said Elsa. "It's Wednesday afternoon and, if memory serves, that means the vending machine's been restocked."

Her smile was like sunlight through the clouds. Touched by her kindness, Adam nodded wordlessly and together they left the room.


	6. Chapter 6

Thursday came far too quickly. Adam knew that, at some point, he would have to talk to Stella. The trouble was, the longer he left it, and the more times he rehearsed their conversation in his head, the worse his nerves became. Other people got knots in their stomach. Adam just got flustered. Already this morning, he had broken a test tube and knocked a lab tech clean off her feet. Thoroughly embarrassed, he finished his work in Trace as quickly as possible and fled to the safer confines of the AV lab - just as Mac called Stella into his office.

 _Nice one, Ross,_ thought Adam, ducking down and hoping that the light from the screens would mask his glowing cheeks. Pulling a pen from his pocket, he toyed with it nervously and tried to look busy. After all, he wasn't alone today. Several other lab techs moved around behind him. Normally sociable, Adam kept quiet, one eye on his work and the other one surreptitiously trained on the boss man's office.

Mac ushered Stella towards the couch and sat down beside her. This meant that Adam couldn't see their faces. He could only imagine how Stella's expression might change, as Mac revealed the truth about her 'accident'. Danny had tested the chair already, finding traces of acid on the joint that held the two halves together. A layman might believe that Stella had twisted the seat round too many times. Faced with a detailed inspection, this flimsy premise fell apart - just like the chair. Verdict: it was deliberate. Someone had caused poor Stella to fall, just as surely as if they had pushed her. Mac had been furious.

Time passed, and the conversation came to an end. Adam watched as his boss laid a gentle hand on Stella's shoulder. Shaking her head, the woman stood up. Clearly, she was leaving. Adam spun round quickly, almost falling himself in the process. It was cowardly, he knew, but he still couldn't look her in the eye. Not yet...

"Adam. Can I speak with you?"

Her warm voice carried through the glass. He turned back and saw that she was smiling at him. That was unexpected - and something of a relief.

He rose to his feet and slipped out of the AV lab. Tactfully, Mac had disappeared completely. Stella took Adam's arm and steered him down the nearby steps to a quiet corner.

Wondering how to begin, he stared at her, breathing heavily. Stella clasped her hands together.

"I've heard it from Mac," she offered. "Now I want to hear it from you. What happened? And why on earth didn't you tell me, Adam? I thought we were friends."

"That's just it," he protested, flinching slightly. "Did Mac show you the letter?"

"Yes." The word was simple but the look in Stella's eyes was not. Pain warred with anger - and a touch of sympathy. "Adam. Tell me you didn't believe that trash?"

"Of course not!" Adam was horrified. "Stella, I wouldn't! But..."

"But?"

"They took the best of you. Your strength and your independence. And they turned it into something rotten. I... every time I looked at you after that... well, all I could hear in my head was..."

"The letter," she finished for him, understanding.

"Yes." Adam's answer was heavy too. He pleaded with her silently. _Don't hate me._

"Oh, Adam." Stella sighed and shook her head. "This isn't your fault, you know. You do know that?" she added, as she saw the furtive look that crossed his face. "Hiding the letter from me was an act of kindness. I see that now. And once I got hurt... you showed it to Mac?"

"No," Adam whispered. "I waited."

Stella considered. She studied his pallor and the shadows under his eyes.

"You worried," she corrected him.

He nodded.

"So much. I stayed awake all night. But I didn't tell Mac, even then. I guess... I guess I hoped that nothing else would happen. That it was over." Adam's tone was urgent. "Stella, do you forgive me?"

"You? Yes, of course. This coward, who wants to make our lives a misery? Certainly not."

He saw the fire in her eyes and wished for her passion. "Then let's get him. Before he does it again."

"You think he will?"

"I don't know." Adam looked troubled. "I hope not." The pen was still in his hands, he discovered. Sticking the end of it into his mouth, he chewed on it thoughtfully.

Moments later, he snatched it back out again with a squeal of fright. Blood followed, trickling slowly over his bottom lip.

"Did you bite your tongue?" gasped Stella, full of concern.

"I do' thi'k tho." Adam probed around with his finger. It wasn't long before he found the source of the pain; a wicked, throbbing slice. By now, the blood was beginning to pool in his throat. He desperately needed to spit it out. The sensation was highly unpleasant and the coppery taste was in danger of making him gag. At the same time, however, he was intensely aware of Stella's presence, and so afraid of shaming himself in front of her. The hapless lab rat, caught in a scrape yet again. When would he learn?

Stella saw his dilemma. Without another word, she grabbed his arm once more and whisked him along to the locker room. Startled faces watched them pass, but they were little more than a blur to Adam. Concentrating hard, he managed to keep one hand clamped across his mouth until he reached the safety of the sink. His tongue was on fire and his breathing was shallow. What on earth had he done to himself? Flanked by his anxious colleague, he dropped his hand and began to spit, and spit, until the pristine basin was mottled with vivid drops of red.

Adam turned on the tap and watched the blood disappear in twisting crimson streams. Tearing his eyes away, he found that the world around him was tilting. He staggered, gasping. But Stella's arms were there already, guiding him backwards to the bench. His legs connected and he sat down clumsily. Sweat coated his forehead in an icy sheen.

"Head between your legs," said Stella. She forced him to bend over. For a while, he stayed like that. His tongue was still bleeding slightly. Gravity enticed the random drops to fall, staining his beard and his shoes. Kind-hearted Stella pretended not to notice. "Better?" she asked.

"I thi'k tho. Wha' happe'ed?" Speech was clumsy, and painful. "Maybe I broke the pe'? Ith i' my faul', Thtella?"

Donning a glove from her pocket, she prised the Sharpie from his shaking fingers. Staring at it closely, she gave a cry of disgust. "No. Not your fault." Adam lifted his head as she showed him the lid. At first, he didn't see it. But then she tilted it, pointing to the clip. "Look."

Someone had filed the edge until it was wafer thin, like a razor. Another deliberate act.

The damage was subtle. General usage was unlikely to reveal it. Only someone who chewed this pen would discover the nasty surprise. Someone like Adam - whose habit was known to all.

"Bu' I thithn' ge' a le'er." He shook his head, visibly distressed. Stella put her arm around his shoulder.

"Maybe you missed it. When did you last check your locker?"

Adam sat up. The dizziness was starting to pass, but his tongue was still thick in his mouth. Why did the smallest wounds always hurt so much? "Whe' I came. Early. I wath worki' har'." He offered up a small grin in her direction, made gruesome by the blood that stained his teeth and lips. "Keepi'g ou' of the way."

With a helpless laugh, Stella got up and headed round the bench to the row of lockers. "Do you mind?" she asked. Adam shook his head.

"Le' me," he said, as he pushed himself upwards and stumbled over to join her. Taking a deep breath, he opened it quickly.

Nothing.

Adam rifled through the contents, stirring them into disarray.

Still nothing.

"Where was the pen?" Stella asked, watching him throw up his hands in defeat.

"I' my pocke'."

Together, they looked down at his lab coat, which was stained with errant drops of blood. "Afther you." sighed Adam.

Stella reached her hand into the nearest pocket with delicate care. Moments later, she drew it out again. A little slip of paper was trapped between her first two fingers. It had settled right in the corner, where the seams overlapped. She unfolded it, and Adam leaned over. Wearily, he scanned the half-familiar rhyme that was printed there in miniature, elfin script.

_Tell tale tit!  
_ _Your tongue shall be split,_   
_And all the dogs in the town_   
_Shall have a little bit._

"Oh my God," said Stella, overwhelmed.

Adam hung his head.


	7. Chapter 7

"This letter feels very different," said Mac.

Stella pursed her lips. "I'm inclined to agree."

The two of them were standing in the doorway of the tiny first aid room, which was tucked into an awkward corner of the lab, right next to the break room. Accidents were surprisingly few and far between, but the room was mandatory - even though it was little more than a narrow bed, a sink and a well-stocked kit. Perched on the very edge of the bed and feeling highly ridiculous, Adam stuck out his tongue like an obedient puppy and tried not to stare at Sheldon, whose face was so close to his own that the lab tech was filled with an irrational urge to punch him. Or maybe just giggle. He wasn't entirely sure.

Mac passed the note back to his colleague. "Where's the red envelope?" he continued. "And the expensive paper? This one feels more like an after-thought. Our nasty friend wrote it in a hurry and simply stuck it into Adam's pocket when he wasn't wearing the lab coat. It isn't even original - just an obscure children's rhyme."

"Maybe Adam isn't a proper target," suggested Sheldon, shining a pen-light into his patient's mouth to check the state of his wound. Mac had briefed the doctor as soon as Stella had called them both to Adam's aid. Sheldon had been suitably horrified - and a little upset that no one had told him before.

"That makes sense," put in Stella. "This note isn't bitter or defamatory like the others. It's more of a statement. Cause and effect. Adam told us what was going on, and now he's been punished."

"Grea'," the lab tech mumbled, as Sheldon released his tongue. "Tho', wha' happeth if I ge' a'other le'er?"

For a moment, nobody answered. Mac looked thoughtful. "Only you can make that decision," he said at last. "But Adam, your instincts are good. Look back at your actions over the last few days."

"I ha'." Adam shook his head unhappily.

His boss gave a patient smile. "Look again. First of all, you tried to protect Stella's feelings and take the whole burden upon yourself." Standing by his side, the woman nodded vigorously. "Then, when you knew that the danger was real, and that someone else might get hurt as well, you came to me. Not to mention that, when Flack was angry with Danny, you stood up to both of us and defended your friend. What more could anyone ask?"

Adam stared at his boss in disbelief. So many words, and all of them kind. The sense of belonging that had disappeared from his world in the last few weeks came flooding back as he looked at the faces all around him. "Tha'k you," he sighed.

With a gentle hand, Sheldon took a couple of antiseptic wipes and began to clean the gore from his mouth and chin. "Your tongue will be fine, by the way. I'm not even going to glue the cut. It's stopped bleeding since we rinsed your mouth out, and it isn't terribly deep. So there's no need to worry."

Adam made a noise that sounded suspiciously like 'wuth'.

"You're not a wuss," said Sheldon firmly. "That kind of fright would knock anyone sideways. Plus, a wound to the mouth always generates a surprising amount of blood. You look like a vampire, by the way," he added, grinning. Adam flushed and hid his own smile behind Sheldon's ministrations.

When he had finally finished, the doctor disposed of the wipes and turned to Mac. "Now, I don't pretend to understand what's going on here. And according to you, no one has been seriously hurt - no offence, Adam. But these jokes, or whatever they are, have been downright nasty. Someone in this lab has a wicked sense of humour - and not in a good way. Any idea who it might be?"

"Sadly, no." Mac frowned.

"Not yet," Stella added.

Adam hopped off the bed and stood up, wobbling slightly. "Ca' I go back to work?" he said, trying hard not to lisp - or drool.

Sheldon raised his eyebrows and turned back to the lab tech. "I wouldn't advise it. Take a day off. You must have a few to spare. You're _always_ here..."

Adam pulled a woeful face, trying to melt Sheldon's heart. He would have succeeded, too, but Mac was made of sterner stuff. 

"Doctor's orders," he said. "Get some rest. You look exhausted and, by your own admission, you've not been sleeping. We'll see you on Monday and not before. _Not_ before," he repeated, catching the mutinous look in the young man's eyes. "Collect your bag and your coat. I'm driving you home."

Adam glanced at Stella as he trotted past her, out of the tiny room. "Not fair," he muttered. "You came back after one day."

Sheldon chuckled, turning it into a cough, which he hid behind his hand.

"I was taught to choose my battles wisely." Mac's expression was serene. "That one?" He shrugged his shoulders. "It was unwinnable."

**-x0x-**

With Adam safely tucked away at home, the crime lab attempted to return to normal. Sheldon went back to Ballistics, where he had been testing three different weapons from a shootout in the Bronx. It was noisy work and, for a while, he didn't pay much attention to his surroundings. Firing all three guns into the water tank, one at a time, he fished out the bullets after each shot and moved across the room with the full set in order to begin comparing striations.

That was when he heard them. Standing around the table in the next room, and gossiping over their work. A group of three or more lab techs, judging by their voices. He recognised one of them straight away - a loud mouthed giant of a man who seemed to find pleasure in stirring up trouble for everyone else around him. Fortunately, he had been given his notice during the budget cuts and was leaving in a week. If not, it was likely that Mac would have fired him anyway before too long, simply for his insubordinate behaviour. Malcontents were not popular at the lab, and soon moved on.

Sheldon listened quietly.

"Did you see Ross running for the bathroom like a baby?" sneered the tall man. "Bonasera told him off and it looked like he was gonna hurl. Wonder if he made it in time? I'd hate to be the cleaning crew on _that_ one."

"That's not what happened," a girl's voice cut in, softer and yet more determined. "He hurt himself, or something. That's what _I_ heard, anyway. Bit his tongue."

"Broke a pen in his mouth, more like," said a third voice scornfully. Clearly, this man had no time for Adam either. "Talk about an oral fixation."

Moving closer to the doorway, Sheldon peered through the glass without being seen by the little group. Now he knew them all. Anthony, Elsa and... what was the third one's name? Oh yes, Jacob. Poor Elsa was looking visibly distressed at the whole tone of the conversation. Anthony watched her face with cunning attention.

"Weren't you hanging around with him yesterday? Eating chocolate and giggling together by the vending machine? Got a girly crush on the weirdo, have you?"

"I like Adam," Elsa protested, trying to stand up for herself and her friend. "What's wrong with that? Why is everyone picking on _him_ all of a sudden?"

"I heard he's been getting some kind of anonymous hate mail." Jacob's face was nonchalant but his eyes were sharp. "Or maybe they're love letters. Are you stalking him, Elsa? You can tell us..."

Both men stared at her. Elsa turned crimson - just as Sheldon stepped into the room. With perfect calm, he stared at the three of them until their heads lowered and the girl's face filled with shame.

"Elsa," he said. "A word."

Walking steadily through the room, taking his time, Sheldon headed out of the opposite doorway and waited in the corridor for the young woman to join him. She stood in front of the doctor, her hands rammed into her pockets and her round face pale beneath the startling mass of freckles.

"Are you alright?" Sheldon asked quietly.

"Those jerks," spat Elsa. Then the lab tech remembered where she was. "I'm fine. Nothing I can't handle. They're always like that, you know."

"I know." Sheldon glanced through the window at the two men, who were bending over their work and looking virtuous, as though they had never spoken a malicious word in their lives. "And I'm sure that telling tales won't help you very much." Wincing, he thought of Adam. "But remember - I'm just around the corner if you need anything. And Mac's door is always open. He cares about his staff. The ones who deserve it, anyway..." Again, his eyes strayed back to Jacob and Anthony.

Elsa managed a weary smile. "Thank you, Doctor Hawkes. I appreciate that." With a sigh of resignation, she headed back into the room. Sheldon watched her go.

What on earth was going on around here? How did so much bad feeling rise up in such a short space of time? Was it the budget cuts? Or was there a far more sinister reason?

Whatever it was, it made him feel sick to his stomach.

Sheldon passed back through to Ballistics and carried on with his investigation, one ear trained on the room next door - but, for the rest of the morning, the lab techs never uttered another word.


	8. Chapter 8

Adam spent the next three days in solitude, playing video games, watching movies and waiting for his tongue to stop throbbing. Aside from one unexpected phone call from Stella, checking up on him, he spoke to nobody. As a result, it was a great relief when Monday morning came around and he was finally able to get back to work.

Walking through the lobby, he was almost at the elevator when he heard his name bouncing off the walls.

"Ross! Adam Ross! Wait a moment..."

Startled by the echo, he turned back - only to find that it was the receptionist who was standing up and beckoning him. Lynne Garrow was an officious soul, but essentially well-meaning. And she definitely had a soft spot for Adam. Every morning, the red-headed woman gave him a beautiful smile as he wandered past her desk. He tried to return it as often as he could, when his mind was not elsewhere and his path to the elevator a matter of unconscious habit. This morning, however, Lynne was frowning slightly behind her thick-rimmed glasses. Adam retraced his steps, feeling nervous.

"Hello, Ms. Garrow. Are you okay? What is it?" His speech was still clumsy and his tongue ached, but at least he was no longer lisping. That had been such an embarrassment to the already awkward lab tech.

"Lynne, please. Remember? Somebody left this for you." She dropped a newspaper onto the desk in front of him. "I'm not a delivery service, Adam. Get your papers another way in the future, okay?"

He looked down in surprise. The newspaper was a pristine copy of the New York Times. It had his name clearly written across the top in capitals, deeply scored and angular. "But I didn't..."

The receptionist stared at him. Her bright gaze was unnerving.

_Never mind._

"Sorry, Lynne," he mumbled, picking it up and shoving it into his messenger bag. "That won't happen again. I promise."

Mollified, she fluttered her eyelashes coyly. "Good enough," she beamed.

Adam spat out an incoherent excuse about being late for work and ran for the elevator.

On the way up, he gathered his nerve. Coming back after a break was like the first day back at school; pleasant, but also a little bit worrying. So many unknowns... What had they been doing in his absence? What new cases had been taken on? What jokes had been shared? Had they missed him...? And, more importantly, had anyone found another spiteful letter? Or was he the only person to receive them after all?

That had been the one bright side to his enforced vacation. Not a single letter or malicious word for three whole days. Adam had closed his mind to the problems at work, as he finally managed to get some much needed sleep - on the couch, it was true, but sadly that was a regular occurrence. Adam was often so exhausted by his long days that he fell asleep in front of a movie, or some suitably inane television programme. He would wake up startled, realising that he was going to be late, and rush out of the apartment in a panic, fresh from a hurried shower, with his curly hair all tangled and his half-made lunch sitting on the kitchen counter. For an organised person, Adam was distinctly careless when it came to his own well-being. He knew his faults but he couldn't seem to break the habit. Going to bed at a reasonable hour was just not an option. Too many thoughts roaming through his head. Too many images...

Stepping out of the elevator - safely, this time - he headed to the locker room in order to dump his bag. He didn't notice the figure that followed close behind him. Not until it was far too late. A squeak, like the noise of a rubber sole on regulation tiles, made him turn - and retreat against the lockers with an expression of dismay.

Two long arms slammed into the metal doors on either side of him, pinning him tightly, as he peered up into Anthony Farrell's red face.

"Back so soon?" asked the bully, his low voice dripping with insincerity.

"Um... yes?" Adam ventured.

"Feeling better?"

"Um... yes. I guess so." The lab tech's mind was racing. Could Anthony be the one? The phantom letter writer? He had the inclination, but surely his style was far too blatant? What need would he have for subtlety or malice? His power was in his size and his ugly mouth.

"That's a shame. Things were so much better without your bumbling stupidity. Detective Taylor was saying as much, only the other day..."

"I don't believe you." Adam shook his head. His blue eyes wandered to the door. If he ducked now and ran as fast as he could, would he make it?

"Believe what you like," said Farrell smugly. "I know what I heard."

"And what, precisely, was that?" asked a cool voice. Dropping his arms in a guilty attempt to hide his aggressive stance, the bully wheeled around in shock.

"Hi boss," said Adam. His tone was breezy but his body language told a very different story.

"Good morning, Adam." Mac's face was grave as he stepped through the doorway. "Glad to see you back again. Having trouble?"

"What? Oh - no." Adam's denial was far too quick. Farrell gave a clumsy nod and darted past Mac as swiftly as his giant frame would let him. The detective watched him go, his upper lip curling in disgust.

"Not a nice man," he commented shortly. "If he wasn't leaving already..." He left the sentence hanging and turned back to Adam. "Now. The truth."

 _Truth about what?_ The words hovered on his lips but he knew better than to say them. How much had Mac overheard? "He... ah... Anthony doesn't really like me, okay?"

"So I gathered." Mac sat on the bench and gestured for Adam to join him. The lab tech plonked himself down gratefully. "Does this happen often?"

Adam's silence was far more telling than any spoken answer could have been. He looked at his boss with pleading eyes, before dropping his gaze in shame. "I don't want to cause trouble."

Thinking about what he knew of Adam's history, Mac gave a sigh of resignation. It would have been so easy to make a fuss - but what repercussions would that have for the man who sat beside him? Better to do a little more digging first. "I understand. But what does he have against you, Adam?"

Studying his hands with rapt attention, the lab tech tried to explain. "They... he's mad because you saved me. When I got that letter. You know, my dismissal. He thinks I'm your favourite or something." Realising how this might sound, Adam raised his head and continued quickly, tumbling over his words in his haste to make things right. "Not that I'm not grateful, okay; it's just... well, there were others, you see, and they're all still leaving - and I get why they'd be mad at me, you know, so maybe it's not their fault..."

"Stop." Mac held up his hand.

"Oh - okay. Sorry." Mutely, Adam gazed at his boss. _There you go, rambling on again. You idiot._

"Adam... there's something I need to explain to you," said Mac with uncharacteristic hesitation. "She asked me not to, but I feel that you ought to know. Especially under the circumstances."

"She?" ventured Adam.

"Stella."

"Oh. I mean... what?"

"It was Stella who saved you. I tried, but the chief wouldn't listen to reason. So, Stella came up with a plan - a _secret_ plan, I might add," Mac continued, enjoying the look of shock on Adam's face. "She got everyone to give up some of their paid vacation, herself included, in order to buy you more time. Danny, Sheldon, Lindsay... we all did it, Adam. Farrell's wrong. This was never about favouritism. We simply couldn't imagine the lab without you." He shook his head and fixed Adam with his penetrating gaze. "It just wasn't right. Your work is vital, and exemplary." Then, all of a sudden, he grinned. "Besides, think how dull our lives would be without you to entertain us every day."

There were no words. Simply no words. For once in his life, Adam could not find a single thing to say. _Stella_ had saved him. Stella - and oh, how he had wronged her, playing her passionate speech inside his head, over and over. Dwelling on the hurt and the disappointment until it had almost driven him mad. _Just goes to show that listening through walls is never a good idea,_ he thought. A radiant smile began to spread across his face, starting with his mouth and moving to his eyes, where it lit two shining candles. Mac watched with relief.

"There you go," he said. "Now, come on. It's time to get back to work. Put your bag away. I'll walk with you to the kitchen and we can both kick-start the day with a strong cup of coffee."

"Thank you, boss." Adam's voice was husky as he rose to his feet and removed his bag. Suddenly, he remembered the newspaper. "Hey - you like the New York Times, don't you, Mac? I got a freebie on my way in. Don't remember ordering it but I must have done. Probably one of those boxes you tick and then forget about, right?" He pulled it out of his bag and passed it over. Mac took it gratefully - but as he did so, something fell to the floor with an all too familiar flash of red.

Adam's moment of happiness drained away, leaving him hollow. Both men stared at the letter, unable to move.

"Here we go again," the lab tech whispered.

_I should have stayed at home..._


	9. Chapter 9

Mac closed the door and turned to face his team, who were seated around the table, watching him nervously. The call had been urgent and mysterious. Only Adam kept apart. He was far too edgy to stay in one place and so he wandered up and down at the back of the room, trying not to catch the eyes of his colleagues.

In his absence, someone must have told Lindsay about the first three letters. Adam assumed that it had been Danny, or maybe Stella. He really hoped that she wouldn't be the next target. There had been a wariness in her manner over the past few weeks that he couldn't quite make out - not that he had ever been very good at reading people.

Mac moved to the head of the table and sat down.

"I'm sure I don't need to remind you that this matter is highly confidential," he advised them. "So far, these letters have only been delivered to Adam..." The CSIs turned to stare at the lab tech, who dropped into an empty chair and fixed his eyes upon the table instead until they looked away. "But I refuse to let him face this problem alone, and I'm sure that everyone here feels the same way. Besides, the content of each malicious letter has been about someone in this room. First Stella..." The elegant woman flushed, raising a hand to her forehead unconsciously. "Then Danny..." Seated beside her, the detective pulled a gloomy face. The repercussions from his own little 'prank' were refusing to fade away as quickly as the bruise upon Stella's brow. In spite of Don's valiant efforts, Danny's reception down at the precinct had been decidedly frosty of late. "And finally, Adam himself."

"How are you feeling, by the way, Adam?" Stella asked kindly, trying to force him into making eye contact.

"I'm fine." He peered at her sideways and saw the genuine concern upon her face. Remembering the secret that Mac had told him, only moments ago, he felt a sudden surge of warmth towards her, and flashed the woman a tiny half-smile. She nodded, satisfied.

"Now Adam has received another letter, wrapped in this copy of the New York Times, which was left at the front desk with his name on it." Mac gestured to the offending articles, laid out before him, and then narrowed his eyes as he focussed on each and every one of them in turn. "This means that we have an important choice to make. The letter writer wants us to feel alone. That much is clear. He - or she," he added, with a subtle nod to Adam, "is preying upon our self-doubt and our sense of shame, hoping that it will keep us apart and make us vulnerable."

"Why?" asked Lindsay quietly.

"At this stage, I have no idea. But when Adam received the second letter, he realised something very important." Again, he directed his gaze to the lab tech, who tried to look suitably nonchalant. "We're stronger together. With that in mind, I believe that there should be no more secrecy between us. If we keep the letters personal, they continue to spread their poison. But if we open them here in this room and deal with the contents immediately, then we flout the lies and defy the person who is creating them." His eyes fastened briefly upon Sheldon and then Lindsay; an unspoken apology that they had not been included sooner. Both of them were staring at the letter by now, however, fully aware that they could be its intended victim.

"Whatever the consequences for Adam, or for anyone else?" asked Sheldon, his normally ebullient tone subdued and full of concern.

Adam clasped his hands together and cleared his throat. If Mac was prepared to stand up for him, then he would stand up for Mac. "Whatever the consequences," he said stoutly. "I agree with the boss."

"So do I," said Lindsay - though her eyes still lingered on the blood red envelope.

Sheldon sighed, and nodded.

"I think we're strong enough to take it," Stella told Mac, with her usual determination. Meanwhile, Danny gave Lindsay a reassuring wink and then turned to his boss.

"Come on, then, Mac," he urged. "Let's just open it already and get this over with. I don't know about you, but patience isn't really my thing."

Satisfied that everyone was in agreement, Mac slid on a pair of gloves and lifted the envelope. He sliced through the top with a scalpel that he had borrowed from the lab next door. Then he clenched his jaw and pulled out the letter. It was a single sheet, yet again; perfect and white on the outside as if to further conceal its poisonous heart. The detective unfolded it quickly and scanned the contents.

Then he held the letter out to Sheldon.

"Your decision," he said. "To read it aloud or to pass it around."

The doctor's face dropped, but then he gathered his courage and flashed a careless grin. "That's okay," he said. "I'll read it out loud."

Taking the piece of paper, he focussed his whole attention on the ugly black lines, not daring to look up until he had finished reading. At the other end of the table, Adam closed his eyes unhappily as the words washed over him.

_"Who am I?  
A doctor who found death too frightening.  
An M.E. who found it too dull.  
I searched for a challenge  
to match my ego  
and found it in a tower of glass,  
high above the multitude.  
Death is a game to me now.  
Let us play."_

**-x0x-**

For a moment, nobody spoke. They were all waiting to see what Sheldon's response would be. Finally, he shrugged.

"Not what I expected," he said lightly. Mac admired his fortitude. "I know my faults. Clearly this person doesn't."

"But all those references to death," said Lindsay, trying to disguise her own relief by focussing on the potential threat to her colleague. "That can't be good, right? The other riddles were mean, not violent. Do you think that he's threatening Sheldon?"

"He did hurt me," said Adam softly. No one heard him but Mac. They were too busy crowding around the doctor, peering down at the letter and studying its cryptic lines. Seeking silent permission from his boss, Adam rose and slipped out of the room. Mac watched him leave, full of sympathy. Then he turned his attention back to the huddle around poor Sheldon.

"We need to treat this like any other case," he told them firmly. "Danny - stick with Hawkes. Don't let him out of your sight for the rest of the day."

"Not even for bathroom breaks?" asked the doctor, trying to force a little humour. Danny chuckled. Sensing their need for levity, Mac responded in kind.

"I'll leave that one up to you. No doubt you'll figure something out. Lindsay, you and Stella take the newspaper. Our malicious friend may be careful when it comes to the letters themselves, but even the sneakiest person can make a mistake. Sheldon, I'm going to leave this particular note with you and Danny. I think it's only fair that you should be the one to deal with it. I'll give you the others for comparison."

Hawkes nodded, appreciating the sensitivity of Mac's decision.

"Unfortunately, we can't let this matter interfere with any of the other cases that we have on the go right now, but I know that none of you will mind the extra load. Let me know the minute you find anything. And Adam has promised to bring us any more letters that come his way."

Startled, the others realised that the lab tech had left the room.

"How's he doing - really?" Danny asked.

"Adam's tough." Mac's answer was simple and firm. "Don't underestimate him. And Sheldon?" He looked across at the doctor. "Please be careful."

"Don't worry," Sheldon replied. "I get the feeling that Danny's going to be sticking to me like glue. So the only thing I really have to be concerned about today is prolonged exposure to an endless round of really bad jokes..."

"Hehehe," his colleague chuckled - but he didn't deny it.

Just as they were beginning to file out of the room, Sheldon's phone rang. Pulling it out of his pocket, the doctor flipped it open and lifted it to his ear. The voice on the other end was high, and frantic.

"Slow down, Mom," Sheldon gasped. "I can't tell what you're saying. What's the matter? Is something wrong...?"

Mac watched in dismay as Sheldon's face turned to stone. Striding back to the table, the doctor snatched the newspaper up in his free hand and flung it across to his boss.

"Turn to the obituaries," he said, as his mother's voice continued to shriek in his ear.


	10. Chapter 10

Sheldon retreated to the window, still trying to stem the raging torrent of words that poured from his distraught mother. Everyone else crowded around Mac, as he began to turn through the pages of the New York Times. The detective was almost too afraid to imagine what he might find there. Reaching the obituaries at last, he laid the page open across the table for his colleagues to see.

And suddenly they understood.

"Oh no," murmured Lindsay, leaning forward to stare at the column with guilty fascination.

It was so macabre, Mac thought, and almost funny - if it hadn't been their friend whose tiny monochrome image smiled up at them from a page full of ghosts.

"New York City's crime lab mourns the loss of Dr. Sheldon Hawkes," read Danny in horrified awe. "A brilliant career has been cut short by what can only be described as a tragic accident."

"No wonder his mother is upset," Stella whispered, half-afraid that Sheldon would hear her. "I'd be out of my mind. This is insane."

Mac was still reading. The obituary was full of over-blown praise, documenting Sheldon Hawkes' meteoric rise - graduating from college at eighteen, qualifying as a fully licensed surgeon by the age of twenty four... Doctor, medical examiner, crime scene investigator - everything was there. And yet, through every sentence ran a thick vein of sarcasm, subtle in its wording, implying another side to the story - one of ego and ambition. It was the spiteful letter blown out of all proportion and turned into a public spectacle.

"Damn. This creep is clever." Danny shook his head.

"Diabolical would be a better word," Mac commented grimly. Sheldon's frustration was almost tangible as he banged his fist on the window and snapped his cell phone shut with violent disgust. Taking a moment to gather himself, the doctor turned to face his friends.

"Apparently," he told them, in a voice that was eerily calm, "I fell down the stairs and broke my neck."

"Then you look surprisingly good for a dead man," quipped Danny, before his better judgement could stop him. Sheldon's glare was withering.

"Not now, Danny," he warned. "Sense the tone, okay?"

"Sorry," muttered his friend. "I make jokes when I'm nervous. You know that."

Mac stepped in hurriedly. "I take it your mother has read the news too."

"Oh, no." Sheldon kept a tight rein on his temper. His whole body was tense by now, and twitching with suppressed emotion. "She didn't read it. Her sister called her early this morning and demanded to know why she hadn't been informed that her only nephew was now deceased. Since then, she's had - oh, I don't know - about fifty calls already, asking about funeral arrangements, and flowers, and... Mac, she's not a well woman. This is beyond spite. My family and friends think I'm dead. What on earth does that achieve?"

"He's toying with us." Stella's voice was equally controlled. Only a gleam in her eyes betrayed the fire within. It was a look that Mac knew all too well. God help the letter writer if any of them finally caught up with him. He was smashing through boundaries and reaching into areas of their lives that were so personal, his audacity took Mac's breath away.

"Sheldon, I'm truly sorry that this has happened. Believe me, I'll be contacting the New York Times myself, in order to get them to print a retraction. In the meantime, we have to get to the bottom of this, and quickly. These letters are growing more devious by the day. Clearly, their author feels that his power is growing. They need to be stopped, before his deeds escalate to the point where he does irreparable harm."

"Then you'd better look to yourself," sighed the doctor. "Because you and Lindsay are the only ones who haven't had one yet."

**-x0x-**

Adam heaped a third spoonful of coffee into his mug, and two helpings of sugar. Disgusting but necessary. He needed a jolt to his system, and caffeine was the only way to achieve that. Overwhelmed by a wave of conflicting thoughts and emotions, Adam's brain was refusing to co-operate anymore, leaving him floundering, and stupefied. So, coffee. And a sugar rush. Upending the kettle, he pictured his thoughts floating away with the steam, rising upwards in twos and threes until, trapped by the ceiling, they huddled together, looking down on him and laughing at his dormant state of mind...

"Can I have one?" said an unexpected voice behind him.

He jumped, and the kettle jerked in his hand. Boiling water lurched out of the spout, missing his mug completely and seething across the countertop until it found the edge, where it paused for a few seconds before continuing on its inevitable downward journey - towards Adam's feet.

He yelped and leapt backwards.

"Don't startle me like that!" he complained, spinning around to see who had crept up on him so quietly.

Elsa stood in the doorway, looking penitent.

"Sorry. Are you okay?"

A simple question, with so many possible answers. Adam waved them all away and stuck with his usual, non-committal reply.

"I'm fine."

"I don't think so." She took another couple of steps into the room. Ducking away from her gaze, Adam searched around for a cloth to wipe up the mess. Elsa watched him for a while, disturbed by his reticence. "Adam. Is something going on with you? You're white as a sheet. And there are all kinds of rumours flying around the lab."

He stood up and wrung the cloth out into the sink, taking care not to burn his hands. "What kind of rumours?"

"Jacob says you've been getting letters. Hate mail. Is that true?"

Instead of answering the question, Adam turned to her at last. His blue eyes were angry and full of pain. "Jacob's got no right to be saying anything about me. Gossip is wicked - and so are the people who spread it."

Elsa drew back as though she had been slapped in the face. At once, Adam reached out his hand. "Oh - no, Elsa. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean you..."

"Yes, you did. And you'd be right. Look at me, poking my nose in where it's not wanted. I'll leave you in peace."

Adam grabbed her arm, so full of guilt that it almost choked him.

"Please! It's just... I can't really tell you anything about it, okay? Mac made me promise not to. But Elsa, thank you for caring enough to ask. It means a lot to me. Really."

"Really?" Her echo was small, but relieved.

Just at that moment, Stella came bursting into the room. "Oh - excuse me. I was looking for Adam..."

"I'm okay, Stella." Adam gave her an apologetic smile. "I needed some air for a moment, that's all. Well, you know, same air, different room..."

"Of course." Slipping past them, with the kettle firmly in her line of sight, Stella noticed the wet cloth and the suspicious damp patch on the floor. "Accident?"

With a softer grin, Adam stepped across the kitchen and lifted two more mugs down from the cabinet. "Don't know what you mean," he said lightly. The colour was slowly returning to his cheeks by now. "Let me make your drink for you, alright? Elsa and I..."

Adam paused. All at once, he was painfully aware of a void behind him. Stella watched as he turned in dismay and stared at the empty space between himself and the doorway.

Elsa had gone.


	11. Chapter 11

By mid-morning, concentration was starting to become something of a problem for Adam. The bewildered lab tech tried to get on with his work, laying out a careful grid across a bloodstained sheet that was evidence in one of Mac's open cases, but deep down he was still rattled by Stella's latest piece of news. One part of his brain was full of guilty joy that Sheldon's fate had been nothing more sinister than a morbid prank. His own imagination had been conjuring up all sorts of horrible variations on the theme of death, and this public humiliation, though cruel, was far less frightening. Not that he would have voiced any of these thoughts to poor Sheldon, who was still wandering around the lab with a dazed expression on his face. Every ten minutes or so, the doctor's phone would ring again and he would dart off to answer it, in order to convince yet another friend or relation that _yes,_ contrary to popular belief, he was still quite definitely in the land of the living.

The other half of Adam's brain ran along a far more elusive path. He was determined to work out the identity of the mysterious letter writer. It had to be someone within the lab - and that was a horrible thought in itself. If he had been the only victim - well, _that_ Adam could have understood. He knew that he was not popular with many of the lab techs just now. And Danny - he was good at irritating people, to be sure. But Stella? And Dr. Hawkes? The man was just so... good. Adam sighed.

An urgent twinge in his back reminded him that it would probably be a good idea to straighten up for a while. He had been bending over the light table for almost twenty minutes now, working on autopilot. He only hoped that he hadn't made any mistakes with the grid size. He didn't even remember marking the last four rows. _Am I losing it?_ he wondered nervously, giggling to himself.

"Do you have to do that?" snapped an irritable voice from the other end of the room. "It's like working with a five year old girl, for heaven's sake."

Adam resisted the urge to actually _behave_ like a five year old girl and stick his tongue out at the obnoxious Anthony Farrell. What malignant fate had brought them together yet again this morning? Adam had no idea, but he was trying very hard to ignore the man. For his part, Farrell had also left Adam alone. _Probably frightened by his close encounter with Mac,_ the lab tech remembered. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Stop smirking," Anthony snapped. "God, you're such a fool."

 _And you're a bully,_ Adam told him sharply, in his head. He turned back to his grid and set out the final line.

"That's wonky," commented Anthony, wandering over to take a look.

 _Bite me,_ thought Adam. He pressed his lips together tightly, staring his colleague down without a word. Unnerved by his wide-eyed silence, Anthony snorted and turned away.

Adam watched him go. Really, the man was a total disgrace to the lab. His regulation white coat was not pristine, like Adam's, but grubby and worn at the hem. Even more unsightly were the pockets, which bulged out on either side like a couple of swollen pustules. Farrell had an obsessive habit of filling them with anything he thought he might need during the day. Pencils, gloves, a notebook, rubber bands, tape...

As his eyes lingered carelessly upon the jumble of objects sticking out of his enemy's left pocket, Adam did a sudden double-take.

It couldn't be...

His heart beat faster. A tiny sliver of crimson poked out from behind the spiral binding of Anthony's notebook.

And now Adam knew that he had to find out for certain. But how could he do that without alerting Anthony to his suspicions? Adam was no spy, and sneakiness was definitely not his middle name. He doubted very much that he could lift the envelope from his colleague's pocket without the other man noticing.

Which left direct confrontation.

_Oh, crap._

Adam swallowed several times and then lurched across the room in a series of awkward strides, squaring up to Anthony like a rabbit facing a bear.

"What?" demanded the larger man, wheeling around and looming over him.

"I know what you've done," squeaked Adam. Farrell's eyes narrowed. The lab tech cleared his throat and resumed in a deeper voice. "I know, okay? And I'm going to the boss. So you might as well give me that envelope now." He held out his hand, which was shaking slightly.

"Envelope?" Anthony glared at him. "Are you kidding me? All that caffeine must've addled your brain, Ross, 'cos you're talking crazy again."

Adam lunged forwards and snatched at Farrell's pocket. But Anthony was faster than he looked. With one large hand, he grabbed Adam's wrist and held it in mid-air. "Where d'you think _you're_ going?" he asked it in a mocking voice. Adam cringed. Memories washed over him, violent and unstoppable. For one terrifying moment, Farrell's broad features were overlaid by another leering face...

"Give me the envelope," Adam cried desperately, trying to break free. With his other hand, he lashed out at Farrell, not really caring where his fist connected. It caught the taller man on the jaw and he roared out in fury, slamming his own fist into Adam's skull.

Adam reeled. Anthony let go of his wrist as he staggered sideways. Fireworks were going off all around his head. _I feel like a cartoon,_ he thought deliriously. _Next thing you know, I'll be seeing little birds too._

Several other lab techs had gathered by now, eager to watch what promised to be an epic battle - David versus Goliath. It was hard to guess which of the two men they were cheering for, as they kept their voices low, reluctant for the fight to be discovered.

The crimson envelope mocked Adam from Farrell's gaping pocket. Lowering his head, he launched at the bully and rammed him right in the stomach.

Farrell grunted and slammed back against a nearby counter.

With his large hands, he grabbed both sides of Adam's face and began to squeeze. The lab tech struggled for all he was worth, but found that he couldn't escape. A strange, urgent throbbing filled his ears, the only sound that he could hear through Farrell's thick palms. It wasn't until he felt a third hand fall upon his shoulder, yanking at his lab coat and dragging him painfully out of Anthony's grip, that he realised someone else had entered the fray.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" yelled Flack in disbelief.

**-x0x**

He had come to the crime lab in search of Danny, wanting to let him know that, once he had shown them Sheldon's 'obituary', the guys down at the precinct had finally backed down and given credence to his wild theory about a spiteful letter writer and a bogus email. Stepping off the elevator, Don took a random turn in the direction of the main labs. As he strode along the corridor, he kept his eyes peeled for any sign of his friend - until he spotted a mysterious huddle in the doorway of the Trace lab, and heard their low cries of encouragement. _Fight,_ he thought grimly, recognising the signs even though common sense was telling him it had to be impossible. These were science geeks, not high school jocks. Forcing his way through, he was dumbfounded to see the jumpy little lab tech, Ross, flying head first at an ugly guy who was twice his size.

 _Pinch me,_ he thought. _I must be dreaming._

Yet the pain on Adam's face was real enough. Sensing an imminent defeat, Flack waded in.

"Let go," snapped Adam, squirming uncontrollably in the detective's grip. "Just get off me!"

"Only when you calm down." Flack directed his cold gaze towards the other man, who remained frozen in absolute shock, his arms still outstretched and his mouth so wide that Flack could have rammed his whole fist in there. Not that he was considering it...

The man looked like a total jerk.

And Ross... When had Ross ever put up a fight like that? For pity's sake, the man jumped at his own shadow. Don shook his head in disbelief. "Follow me," he told the taller man, as he moved towards the exit, dragging Adam with him unceremoniously.

The lab tech wilted quite suddenly, as though all of his bones had turned to jelly. Only now, as the blinding rush of adrenaline deserted him, could Adam see exactly who it was that had hold of his collar. "Detective Flack?" he murmured, horrorstruck - but those were the only words he uttered.

"Where are we going?" asked Farrell sullenly.

"Where do you think?" the detective retorted. To his amusement, the doorway was clear by now. Not a single tech was in sight. Flack strode down the corridor, manfully trying to ignore the irrational urge to laugh that was bubbling up inside him. Sensing Ross's fright, he let go of the man's lab coat and paused for a moment. "You okay?" he demanded, reaching out to straighten his collar with an unexpected gesture of sympathy. "You know I only grabbed you to pull you away from him, right?"

Adam looked at him bleakly. His blue eyes looked stunned. Suddenly, Flack wasn't sure that he knew anything at all right now.

"Perfect," the tall man grumbled sullenly. "Take his side. You lot always do."

"I'm not taking anyone's side," Don informed him in a tone so sharp it could have cut through steel. "That would be the job of your superior."

Reaching Mac's office, he knocked on the glass door and pushed the two men in front of him.

"In you go," he said helpfully, swinging the door to one side as he shoved them through.


	12. Chapter 12

Mac slammed the phone down and glared at his three ill-assorted visitors. "What now?" he snapped.

Only Don Flack appeared to be unfazed. He leaned against the glass door, blocking the nearest escape route. His face was serene. Meanwhile, Anthony glowered and stared down at his sneakers. Beside him, Adam seemed lost, and dangerously quiet.

"Bit of a ding-dong," Flack observed casually. "Thought you might like to try and get to the bottom of it."

Mac already had a shrewd idea of what that 'bottom' might be. Silence, however, was a very effective interrogation device - and so he waited, fixing his stern gaze first on Adam and then on Anthony Farrell.

"He started it," muttered the giant feebly.

"Did you?" Mac turned to Adam, who could not meet his eye. With an almost imperceptible nod, the lab tech confirmed his own guilt. Farrell's red cheeks burned in silent triumph.

The first stirrings of a headache were beginning to itch inside Mac's skull. Letting out a weary sigh, the detective rubbed his eyes. Wrangling with the public relations officer of the New York Times had not been a pleasant experience. Apparently, the newspaper took the rights of its contributors very seriously. After forty minutes of complex manoeuvring that would have put Fisher or Kasparov to shame, Mac finally managed to convince the woman that her paper ought to print a retraction - quite logical, he had assumed, considering that the man in question wasn't really dead. He had not been able to secure the name of the person who had supplied the obituary in the first place.

This was turning out to be a very bad morning.

He studied Adam carefully, trying to ignore the pulse that was creeping slowly towards his right eye. "Tell me what happened."

Adam lifted his head at last and gave Mac an urgent look. "No," he replied.

"No?" Don couldn't hide his shock. Mac was equally startled by Adam's refusal. Was the world going mad and they had only just noticed? Farrell, in contrast, was the very model of smug satisfaction - until Adam's hand snaked out to the side and snatched the envelope from his pocket.

"No," he repeated, this time with confidence. "I'll _show_ you." Stepping forward, he held out his prize. Mac took the letter without a word but the set of his jaw spoke of untold danger in store for the wretched Anthony Farrell.

"That's not mine," the tall man objected sullenly.

"Says you." Don grinned, delighted by Adam's victory.

"I saw it," Adam explained, his voice set free by the knowledge that his boss would finally understand. "In his pocket, when we were working in the lab. And I asked him for it, politely..."

"Ha!" snapped Anthony. Adam ignored him.

"I asked for the letter and he refused, so I tried to take it, boss, 'cos I wanted to bring it to you straight away..."

"And that's how the fight began," guessed Don, moving around to stare at the lab tech's eager face.

Farrell shrugged. "Like I said. He started the whole thing. And FYI, that letter isn't mine, okay? Whatever this jerk's trying to pin on me, I didn't do it. Fact."

Seizing upon the word, Mac stood up and glared at the man in a stone cold fury. "Facts are the very thing that will prove your guilt or innocence. If you _are_ the one who's been writing these letters, then I strongly suggest you own up now because - let me tell you - if you deny it, and it turns out to be true... Well, I won't be able to hold the others back for very long, Farrell. To be honest, I doubt I'll even try. Your lack of consideration for the integrity of this lab is a mystery to me. Clearly, your moral code is non-existent. To say nothing of your manners."

"Think I'm scared?" Farrell's cheeks grew pale and his lip curled in utter disdain. "I've got _nothing_ to hide, Mac Taylor - and if you don't sack this... this _rat_ , then you really are the fool that I took you for. I can't wait to leave this place."

"Allow me to help you out," murmured Don. Mac caught the detective's eye and shook his head.

"Not yet. Evidence first. Take this creep away and get a handwriting sample. We'll compare it to his letter." He waved the envelope in Anthony's face. "If it's a match... Well, you'd better hope that you don't run into Dr. Hawkes any time soon. Or Stella. Or Danny..."

"Or me," Adam put in, boldly. Farrell gave him a scornful glance.

"No rematch for you," he taunted his foe. "Ten more seconds without your 'bodyguard' stepping in and I'd have squished you like the bug you are."

Don grabbed Anthony's arm and levered him out of the room. Adam watched him go. His face was unreadable. "What about the letter?" he asked Mac, at last. "Should we even open it this time?"

"We need to, I'm afraid." Mac sighed. "It's evidence - and we've precious little of that. Fetch the others."

Adam turned to leave - but then he paused.

"Um... boss?" he ventured. "What about the fighting? I... I know I shouldn't have done it."

Mac shook his head. "Honestly, Adam? I don't know what to do. You'll have my decision by this afternoon." Softening his tone, he smiled at the lab tech. "The last thing you need right now is somebody else crying 'favouritism'. I understand what happened, and I know the provocation you must have had. Trust me, Adam. I'll find a solution."

Looking faintly reassured, the lab tech nodded and left the room. Mac watched him go with a rare, unguarded expression of fondness.

**-x0x-**

The overwhelming atmosphere in the conference room was one of wary jubilation. Danny clapped Adam on the back. "I hear you tackled the brute."

"Oh, well..." Thinking about his near-defeat, Adam played that one down. "I just had to get the letter, you know?"

"Well, I'm proud of you, buddy."

Adam's bright face flushed with pleasure as Mac walked in and closed the door behind him.

"Everyone here?" the detective said. "Good. No doubt, Adam has filled you in on his latest adventure." He tossed the crimson envelope onto the table. "This is the letter that he found in Anthony Farrell's pocket. We need to open it."

There was a shocked silence. Then Lindsay gave a sigh. "I know you're right," she told Mac. "And really, it ought to be our decision - yours and mine. So, go ahead. I don't care what's inside. Why should I escape, when everyone else has had their fill of this man's poison?"

"Well said." Stella gave her arm a comforting squeeze.

Leaning forwards, they watched as Mac began to slice the letter open. Pulling the paper out, he scrutinised it and then passed it over to Lindsay. "I hoped it might have been me," he told her, full of regret.

Lindsay smiled. "I know." Rising to her feet, she took a deep breath and began to read aloud.

_"Faced with a world of different shades,  
_ _You see only black or white,  
_ _secure in the knowledge  
that your opinion  
must be the right one.  
Country girl  
so young  
and yet so blinkered.  
Now you must choose again  
and this choice is Personal.  
'Father figure' or 'heart's desire' -   
who will you save?  
Set the answer down.  
Black letters  
on a white page.  
Tomorrow's edition.  
Then your choice will be mine.  
Fail  
and the consequence doubles."_

The verse was long, and the CSIs sat quietly after Lindsay had finished, letting the words sink in. At last, Danny put his arm around her. Strong as she was on the outside, he was not the only one who could see that she was barely holding her emotions in check. "Don't worry, Montana," he whispered. "We got the creep. I guess that's the end of it."

"Are you sure?" demanded Sheldon, suddenly. They turned to face him, startled by his words. With a weary shrug, the doctor continued. "Listen - I want to believe it just as much as all of you. But look at the last three lines," he insisted. "What if Anthony Farrell _isn't_ our guy?"

"The letter," Adam protested. "Dr. Hawkes, he had it in his pocket!"

"No, Adam. Sheldon's right." Stella's brow was furrowed. "Farrell may be the one - and I truly hope that he is. But if we pin everything on that hope, and we're wrong... what then?"

"So you're saying I should still do it - whatever _it_ is?" Lindsay's face was aghast.

Full of regret, Sheldon nodded.

Mac took the letter back and scanned it carefully. "'This choice is Personal'," he quoted. "Why the capital letter?"

From his seat at the far end of the table, Adam cleared his throat. "'Tomorrow's edition'," he offered. "Maybe he means the Personal Ads. You know, like in the New York Times again?"

"And just what am I supposed to say?" Lindsay demanded. "In case this ridiculous villain is still watching?"

"Choose," sighed Danny. "Can't you see? Between Mac and me. Boss, or... well, boyfriend. 'Father figure' or 'heart's desire'..."

"But I can't..." Lindsay's voice betrayed her desperation. "I don't even know what I'm choosing _for_."

"And with luck, we'll never know. But they're right, Lindsay." Mac paused. "Pick me," he volunteered. "Save Danny. Whatever it is, you've all had your turn. If something _is_ going to happen, I should be the one to face it."

The whole team stared at him open-mouthed. Mac smiled grimly.

"You know I'm right," he insisted to Lindsay. "I'll make the call myself."


	13. Chapter 13

"Mac, believe me. I've checked three times. There's no doubt about it. The handwriting isn't a match."

Stella ran a hand through her curls in frustration. Beside her, Mac stared up at the double set of screens, and the two widely differing examples of penmanship displayed there. It didn't take much serious detective work to spot that Anthony Farrell's scrawl looked like something that a spider might have trailed across the page after wandering through a puddle of ink, whilst the spiteful letters were gothic works of art.

"No loops, no joins, no pen-lifts that match." Stella sighed. "Even if he practised for a year, Farrell couldn't write like that. Sheldon's right. He's not our man."

"A dupe, then?" suggested Mac. "Or maybe he has an accomplice. One who doesn't write like a four year old."

"That's a scary thought." Folding her arms across her chest, Stella considered both options. "I like the first one better. The writer feels that they are smarter than us. They like to set traps, then sit back and watch us take the bait. This is exactly the sort of thing that they would enjoy. Slip the letter into Farrell's pocket, point him at Adam and let him go. We're wasting our time on him, leaving the writer free to make their next move. Whatever it is." She narrowed her eyes at Mac. "That was gallant of you, by the way."

Mac brushed the comment aside. "It was fair, that's all. And I'm inclined to agree with you about Farrell. The man's too crude. Either he's a master of disguise the like of which I've never seen before, or he's a bully, plain and simple. One thing is certain: he's leaving. As of today."

"Where is he now?" asked Stella.

The detective's smile was impish. "Down at the precinct, being grilled by Flack and Danny. They promised to take their time. I doubt the interrogation will reveal anything useful - but it'll certainly make them feel better."

"Maybe you should have let Adam watch."

"I considered it," Mac admitted. "But right now, Adam's in the doghouse. I couldn't be seen to condone fighting in the lab, whatever the cause. So I found him a suitable punishment..."

**-x0x-**

"You want me to _what_?"

Sid Hammerback looked up from the vat in which a particularly gooey skull was slowly being stripped of every last external layer. Adam's stomach churned and he made a solemn vow, right then and there, never, _ever_ to eat soup again.

"Clean that pile of instruments. They need sterilising. Freya will show you how. And then, I think, I could do with some help re-organising the files on my computer. That's one of your specialities, isn't it?"

"I...I guess." Adam looked wary. "What's _in_ the files?"

"Pictures, mostly. And autopsy reports. Oh - don't worry. It's nothing you haven't seen before."

Stepping away from the vat, Sid removed his over-long pair of mad scientist's gloves and smiled at the younger man ingenuously. "Look, Adam. You and I both know that this is Mac's way of easing you through your punishment. I won't make you carry out an actual autopsy. Or clean out a trough full of decomp juice." His eyes twinkled. "I reserve that last one exclusively for newbies."

"Oh! Okay. Thank you," breathed Adam, thoroughly relieved. As soon as Mac had revealed his fate, the lab tech's brain had exploded in a riot of vivid and extremely graphic scenarios...

"You've got skills of your own and I intend to use them, now that I've finally got you down here as my assistant for the rest of the day." Sid cast a furtive glance in the general direction of Freya, his regular side-kick, who was scrubbing down a recently used table. "There's been a definite trend towards sloppiness lately. Young people just don't take the care that they should. No offence," he added hastily, grinning at Adam. "But when you clean those instruments, make sure you put them away in the right place. We've had a spate of disappearances lately." Again, he glared at Freya and raised his voice. "To lose one scalpel, Miss Lindstrom, may be regarded as a misfortune. To lose three looks like carelessness."

"Oscar Wilde," muttered Adam. "The Importance of Being Earnest."

Freya looked daggers at him. Sid merely looked impressed. "Definitely more to you than meets the eye, isn't there, Mr. Ross?" he remarked. "Off you go, then. And make sure you get them spotless." He waved in the general direction of a tray full of instruments caked in - well, Adam chose not to think about that.

So this was Mac's idea of solving his problem. Giving him a punishment so gross and so public that no one could possibly complain about favouritism any more. To the general community of lab techs, Autopsy was a haven of the macabre, and anyone who worked there probably had severe personality issues. Not that Adam disliked Sid. On the contrary, he found him surprisingly easy to talk to, and well-versed on an eclectic range of themes. Other people were a little disturbed by the tone of his conversation at times, but Adam enjoyed it. In Sid, he saw another person who didn't conform to expectations, and who was happy in his eccentricity. The only negative feeling he ever instilled in Adam was jealousy. _If I had half his confidence,_ sighed the lab tech, _life would be so much easier..._

Like right now, for instance. Freya had finished her mundane task and wandered over to give him the benefit of her wisdom. "In there. Turn that," she said shortly, pointing to a machine that resembled nothing so much as an old-fashioned microwave. Then she spun on her heels and stalked away. Adam watched her retreating back. It was rigid with fury. _Oh great,_ he thought. _One more person who hates me._

**-x0x-**

Lindsay leaned her forehead against the glass and peered at her pale reflection, up close and personal. She didn't look good. "I thought that women in my condition were supposed to glow," she muttered. And yet here she was, chalk-white and clammy, with smudges, black as charcoal, under her eyes.

_Black and white._

_This was all I needed,_ she told herself. For over a week now, she had known of her pregnancy. Every waking moment was haunted by two vital questions. How would she tell Danny? And how would he react? Bile rose up in her throat as the same old panic began to stir - made even more bitter by the added poison of _that_ letter.

Black and white. Did she really seem so naïve to everyone around her? No one had questioned the observation. What if they thought it was true? And then there was Mac. How could she let him offer himself like that, without a murmur?

But Danny was the father of her child. And she couldn't risk his safety. Not for anything.

A simple choice, then.

Black and white.

One lonely tear ran down Lindsay's cheek as she pulled away from the mirror and dove for the cubicle yet again.

**-x0x-**

Adam worked on late into the night, completely absorbed. Sid's filing system had been set up several years ago - but since the speed of technology these days was almost faster than the speed of light, it had swiftly become archaic. Trusting as ever, the M.E. gave Adam access to everything, with one simple instruction - tidy it up. Revelling in the complexity of this newfound puzzle, Adam left the world behind him and bent his back over the keyboard until the suite of rooms grew dim and only a handful of employees moved around him. Even Sid left for home, nodding goodbye as he slipped out of the door. Adam lifted his head and grunted, barely even registering the man's departure.

Computers were good. Computers were safe. They didn't look for dazzling interpersonal skills, or the right style of outfit. They didn't mind if you stammered or blushed. They were logical, and challenging, and opened up a world of possibilities. _Call me a geek,_ Adam thought, _but sometimes I really prefer computers to people._

Still, even the most enjoyable puzzle had to end sometime. Adam's watch beeped, pointing out with prissy exactitude that this day was now officially over and perhaps he ought to think about leaving as well.

"Is it really midnight?" he gasped, looking up from the screen. The room was cold, and lit from above in an eerie fashion, highlighting only the autopsy tables. One silent figure hovered over a distant table, performing unthinkable rituals on a pale and lifeless corpse. The current night shift M.E. was a solitary creature, skeleton-thin, with feverish eyes and straight black hair that he clearly trimmed himself, once a year. His unfortunate appearance made him the subject of much ghoulish speculation up in the crime lab. Adam shuddered and pushed back his chair.

_Yep. I'm outta here._

Logging off, he left the computer on standby and scurried out of the door, pausing only to nod farewell to the Spectre of Death, who smiled to find himself alone at last.

**-x0x-**

"How did it go?" asked Mac, stepping into line beside Adam as he waited for the elevator to arrive.

"It was grea... I mean, terrible, boss. SImply awful. I guess I've learned my lesson." Adam's grin belied his penitence. Mac nodded.

"Good. That's exactly what I'd hoped. No more fighting," he added sternly.

"I promise." Adam tried to look angelic and failed. "What happened with Farrell?"

"He's not the guy."

"He's not?" For one moment, the lab tech's face revealed the depth of his horror. Then, as always, the mask slid down and he was back to his twitchy, humorous self. "Bad news for you then, I guess, hey boss?"

"Tell me about it." Mac looked grim.

"Did you post the ad? In the personal column?"

"Sheldon asked if he could do it."

Adam appreciated the subtle joke. "And what do you think will happen now?"

"To be honest, I've no idea." Looking across at the worried lab tech, Mac summoned up his most reassuring smile. "I doubt that it'll be anything violent, though. And I've got a pretty thick hide, as I'm sure you've noticed. Malice can't hurt me."

"Sure, boss." Adam saw what the man was trying to do, and was grateful for the gesture. Even so, he wasn't convinced. And, deep down, he knew full well that neither was Mac.


	14. Chapter 14

Two days passed and nothing happened. The advertisement came and went in the New York Times; an obscure little thing, composed of only four words. 'Save my heart's desire.' It was signed 'L.M.'.

During this time, Mac felt noticeably jumpier than usual. He looked over his shoulder far more times than was necessary, and paused every time he entered a room or opened a drawer. If his colleagues noticed, they certainly didn't comment. After all, he had good cause. On the surface, he remained as stoical as ever, though the expression in his eyes was decidedly wary.

 _This must be what Adam feels like all the time,_ he mused with interest, watching the nervous lab tech through two panels of glass as he bobbed about in front of his computer screen, captured by some inaudible beat that flowed from his iPod directly through his ears and into his brain. In comparison to Mac, Adam was trying to maintain a breezy and positive front - all the more painful to watch because it so clearly _was_ a front. Still, Mac gave him points for effort.

"Any new leads?" asked Don, watching the direction of his gaze. The two men were taking a much needed break in Mac's office, sitting on either side of his desk with steaming mugs of coffee. Conversation was minimal but they were comfortable in their silence. It was a chance to relax and feel secure, just for a moment.

"We're taking a look at the other techs who received a letter of dismissal." Mac looked momentarily pained. "That should never have happened. It still makes me angry. And if Anthony Farrell was openly bitter about it, maybe someone else is seething quietly. It would certainly explain why they used Adam as the focus for their rage."

"But why target the CSIs? Why not simply hurt Adam? Not that I wish him any harm," Don added hastily, keeping his back turned on the AV lab in case, by virtue of some hidden talent, the lab tech was actually lip-reading their whole conversation.

"I don't know." Mac sounded as weary as he felt. Reaching for his mug, he took a thoughtful sip of the brew that sustained them all. "Did Farrell give up _anything_ when you interviewed him?"

"You mean 'interrogated'?" Don's grin was cheerful, and wicked. "Three hours, Mac, and all we got was an earful of ugly complaints. Man thinks the world owes him respect just because he demands it. And he certainly hates Adam Ross. Which I don't really get." The detective looked quizzical. "Ross is just a harmless lab tech. Loopy, but harmless. How'd he ever manage to piss off a guy like Farrell?"

"He worked hard," Mac said cryptically.

Don shrugged. "Okay. Instinct says the ogre didn't do it. So that means it's someone else in the lab. Still no trace from the letters or the pen?"

"Unfortunately, when your suspect works in a crime lab, they know how to rig the evidence. But they'll make a mistake in the end." Frowning, Mac stared at the pile of unsolved cases on his desk. "They always do. And that's how we catch them."

"Hope it's soon, then," sighed the detective. "'Cos I'm getting really sick of this guy's whining." His comment was light but his eyes were serious as they took in the tightness of Mac's jaw and the twitch in his fingers when he reached for yet another dose of coffee.

**-x0x-**

The following morning, Mac stepped out of the elevator and bumped straight into Elsa Rivers. Flustered, he gave the girl an apologetic smile.

"No - it was my fault," she admitted, keeping her face diverted. There was a suspicious redness around her eyes. Unwilling to pry, Mac still felt a strong urge to make sure that Elsa was alright.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Oh, no. I just got some... some bad news, that's all." She lifted her face to his at last and gave a watery smile. "I'm fine, really." With a flick of her skirt, she whirled on her heels and darted away like a fish. Seconds later, she had disappeared altogether.

Mac felt more than a little unsettled by this encounter. Somehow, he had always assumed that the crime lab was a happy place to work. Strange, to be sure - but happy. Lately, he had been forced to dig a little deeper and now he saw that there was an ugly seam running just below the surface. Violent backgrounds, ugly disputes. Bitter jealousies. It was like one of those paintings where, from a distance, all seems harmonious - until you moved in closer and all the vices of the world were pictured there.

Stepping into his office, he hung up his coat and moved towards the desk to check his phone for messages.

He never made it.

Something caught his eye - a 'wrongness' about the room that he couldn't quite grasp until he turned and stared at the photographs which lined his wall. Memories of the past, deeply personal and Mac's only display of pride.

Except that now they were slashed to ribbons.

Invading his own official sanctuary, someone had carefully removed all the glass from each and every picture before slicing through them, over and over again.

With a gasp of horror, he strode to his desk and snatched up the photograph that was his most precious possession; a bittersweet refuge from the madness that was always his day. The smiling face of his wife.

But this, too, had been destroyed, in an act so simple and yet so shockingly violent that Mac could scarcely believe the evidence of his own eyes. He cradled the ruined picture to his chest and bowed his head.

_I'm so sorry, Claire._

When he looked up at last, he saw the final insult.

Thrust into the wall near his desk was a medical scalpel, gleaming madly through the sheen of blood that coated its surface. A single scrap of paper was pinned to the plaster by its blade. Swallowing against the rage that burned inside him, Mac leaned over and read the cool black words.

_'The next cut will be deeper.'_


	15. Chapter 15

"How on earth did they do this without being seen?"

Lindsay stood in the midst of the wreckage that was Mac's world, turning her head from picture to ruined picture.

"I don't know." The strain in Mac's voice was audible; a tightness that he dare not release for fear of what would escape. Every time he caught sight of Claire's picture, the hurt was fresh and new, like a stab to the heart.

_The next cut will be deeper._

_What did it mean?_

"Too far," he muttered. "They've gone too far."

"Oh, no!"

Adam's exclamation of horror broke through Mac's thoughts as the lab tech poked his head around the office door. Reluctant to intrude, and yet drawn by the calamity, he shuffled into the room. His face shone with sympathy. "Boss, I... I'm so sorry. This is _wrong_..." Awkwardly, he trailed off and continued to stare in silence, his eyes narrow and full of unhappiness.

Lindsay was equally distressed. "You shouldn't have offered," she sighed. "All your precious memories. And Claire..."

Mac's face was closed. "It was my turn," he said simply, wanting to reassure her but somehow lacking his usual energy.

"No," said Lindsay. "It wasn't. It was mine."

"And so he's got exactly what he wanted. Your sense of guilt." Mac frowned. "Not necessary, Lindsay. He's the guilty one."

Adam was wandering helplessly around the room, his eyes roaming from one picture to the next. Mac in full dress uniform. Mac with the president. Mac's wife... "Did... did you have any copies of these?" he asked timidly.

"I should have. But I didn't." Mac shook his head.

Clearly desperate to be of some use, Adam continued. "Only... I could do some research and see if any of them are on record somewhere else. Maybe they were in the paper, you know? Or military files?"

"Somehow, I don't think they'd let a lab tech trawl through those." Mac gave the ghost of a smile. "And most of the photographs were personal, I'm afraid. But I do appreciate the thought, Adam."

"'Kay." He shrugged, as his eyes kept roaming around the room. Then he gave a start. "Oscar Wilde!" he gasped.

Mac and Lindsay stared at him as though he had gone mad. Adam hastened to explain. "Um... the scalpel? Yesterday, in Autopsy... Sid mentioned that three had gone missing."

"Hence the blood," said Mac with relief.

"And Oscar Wilde?" asked Lindsay, still a little bewildered.

"Oh. Well, I guess you had to be there." Giving a lop-sided grin, the lab tech turned to Mac. "Does that help, boss?"

"It does." Mac's face remained grim. "However, it's also a cause for concern. Because now we know for certain that there are two more scalpels missing."

_And the next cut will be deeper._

**-x0x-**

Leaving Mac's office, Adam bumped into Jacob - literally. As he stammered out his apologies, the other man stared at him darkly. "Whatever," he said. "I was looking for you anyway. Marilyn says that Freya says that Hammerback wants you down in the Dungeon. Something about a computer glitch."

"What? But I left it in perfect working order." Worry filled Adam's face. "Thanks, man. I'll head down there now."

"Save your thanks." Jacob turned away. "I'm not really interested."

As he headed for the elevator, Adam let his mind slip into a parallel universe, running through all the work that he had carried out yesterday on Sid's computer. He was so distracted that he didn't even realise he had reached Autopsy until the elevator juddered to a halt and spat him out opposite the doorway.

"Oops," he thought with a guilty smile. _Did it again. Good thing no one was watching me._ Part of him always wondered how much of a zombie he looked when he lost himself like that. _Hope I don't drool..._

Just as he was about to enter in search of Sid, a strange smell drifted across his path and made him pause. It was bitter, and sharp with the tang of chemicals.

Adam turned his head and stared down the corridor that ran parallel to the morgue. At the point where it split, tiny fingers of smoke were starting to feel their way around the corner.

_Fire!_

His first thought was to warn Sid and the team - but then he heard a low voice crying out.

"Help me..." it begged, before dying away in a series of shuddering coughs.

Instinct kicked in, and Adam ran. In any event, he reasoned, the fire alarm was sure to go off in a moment and warn the whole building. If not, he could double back and fetch help once he knew the real extent of the danger.

Reaching the corner, he skidded slightly as his foot hit a patch of grease.

Saving himself with a distinct lack of grace, he straightened up - just as a cloud of smoke billowed right into his face. It filled his mouth and clawed at the back of his throat, making him retch.

As he struggled to regain his breath, Adam heard the voice cry out again, much weaker this time.

"Who's there?" he gasped. "Where are you?" His own voice was hoarse, and shouting was painful.

"Here..." Yet again, the voice tailed away.

The fire alarm remained oddly silent, but warning bells were starting to sound in Adam's head. Still, he couldn't ignore a fellow human being in distress and so, clamping his hand across the lower part of his face, he stepped forwards into the billowing smoke.

Without any warning, a fierce blow struck him across the back of his skull. Arms flailing, Adam gasped - and inhaled. In a dizzy panic by now, he tried to wheel around and find his way out. But gravity had other plans for him.

Just as the smoke around him began to grow thinner, Adam's eyes rolled up into his head and he hit the floor.

Hard.


	16. Chapter 16

Adam awoke to the strange sensation of somebody shaking his arm.

"Wha...?" he muttered dully as he tried to roll over.

"Don't," cried a soft voice, full of concern. "Please. Stay on your front."

Now he was really confused. With an effort, he opened his eyes - only to find that he was lying face first on the tiles in a lonely corridor. There was no sign of smoke (although the acrid smell still lingered) and no person in distress...

 _Except for me,_ he thought, wincing as the headache that had been lurking at the back of his skull now spread out gleefully. Adam caught his breath in pain.

A pain that was matched by the agony in his shoulder.

_What...?_

Once again, Adam tried to roll over. Elsa's worried face loomed into view. "Stop doing that," she insisted. "Adam, you had me really scared."

"Sorry?" he offered, peering up at her and blinking as he propped himself up on one elbow. Her outline was fuzzy, and that worried him. "Elsa? Wh-what's going on?"

"I don't know." She looked troubled. "I was bringing some files down to Autopsy for Dr. Hammerback when I saw your legs sticking out. So I came to help you. And I found..." She gestured helplessly.

"Found what?" Adam closed his eyes for a moment and tried to think straight. "Elsa, please. Why does my shoulder hurt?"

The young woman swallowed. "I don't think I want to tell you..."

"Try," he said grimly. "Or I'll reach for it myself."

"No! O-okay. Adam.... there's a scalpel. And..." She paused. "And a letter."

"A _letter?_ " Adam was far more frightened by her second disclosure. Grabbing the hem of Elsa's lab coat with his fist, his cry was urgent. "Get it off me. Please!"

It was _pinned_ to him. With a scalpel. Right through his flesh. The thought filled Adam with such intense loathing that he could hardly bear it. Someone had done this to him - done it while he was lying there unconscious.

"The smoke," he whispered suddenly, panic clouding his mind. "Where's the smoke?"

"What smoke?" said Elsa.

Then the fire was a trick. Adam felt so stupid. The only thing truly burning was his shoulder - and once more he pleaded with Elsa to take the knife out.

"I'll get Dr. Hammerback," she murmured.

"Please don't." Reaching through the fog that was his mind, Adam clung to Mac's rule. "It has to stay secret. You can do this, Elsa. I won't cry out. I promise..." His low voice was adamant.

"I... I guess." Her face moved out of sight. "It doesn't look too deep," she continued from somewhere behind him. Adam guessed that she was trying to convince herself as well. "But won't you bleed?"

"I don't care," Adam begged through clenched teeth. "Do it. Now!"

A shocking moment of pain.

An ice-cold shiver.

"Done it," cried Elsa, full of relief.

Adam slumped back down to the floor. "Take it to Mac," he ordered her. "I'm just gonna lie here for a minute or two..."

"But shouldn't I put pressure on it, or... or something? I'm sorry. I'm not very good at this." It was clear that Elsa's control was starting to slip, and badly. Adam shook his head; a tiny but definite movement.

"No. Get help. That's the most important thing."

Reluctantly, she stood up and started to back away. "What if...?"

"Please." Adam's voice was so faint by now that Elsa could barely hear him. "Mac. He'll know what to do. And then... stay out of this, Elsa. Don't get involved, okay?"

The young woman stared at him, white-faced and full of doubt. "I can't leave."

"You must. Five minutes. Here to Mac's office, that's all."

With a nod, she gathered her resolve. Head on one side, he watched her hurry around the corner and out of sight. Only then did his courage desert him, sinking into the floor and taking with it the last of his adrenaline.

**-x0x-**

Without any pictures, Mac's office looked horribly bare - like the shell of his life, if every joyful thing were to be stripped away. He sat behind his desk and watched as Lindsay and Sheldon carried the last box of photographs off to the lab to be reclassed as evidence. From now on, they would spark a very different kind of memory; their once proud role perverted by a spiteful hand. 

_How did we wrong this person? Their acts are so personal, and they know exactly how to wound us. Who does things like that?_

A timid knock at the glass caught his attention. Lifting a head that felt far too heavy this morning, Mac nodded slowly. "Come in."

Elsa Rivers. Again. And looking even worse than she did before. She sidled into the room, clutching something tightly between her fingers. When Mac saw what it was, he sprang to his feet, both hands gripping the desk.

"I... Sir..." Elsa bit her lip and held out the envelope, and the knife. Both were covered in blood.

"Where did you get those?" Mac's voice was level, but fear rode through his body in waves. The desk was an anchor.

Some kind of terror had taken hold of the lab tech. Her mouth was moving but no words came out.

"Elsa!" snapped Mac. "Get a hold of yourself. Where did you find this letter?"

"A-Adam," she whispered.

The room was suddenly far too hot. Mac swallowed. "Where?" he asked, for the third time.

Elsa burst into tears.

"You makin' lab techs cry again, Mac?" said a lazy voice. Don Flack leaned around the door. When he saw the look upon Mac's face, he regretted his flippant manner. "Sorry. Want me to butt out?"

"No." Mac waved him in with sudden relief. Letting go of the desk at last, he reached out to Elsa and steered her to the couch. She sat down with a bump and dropped her head into her hands. "I'd ask you to take your time" Mac advised her simply, crouching beside her. "But I don't think you want me to. Am I right?"

Elsa nodded, lifting her head and peering at her boss through swollen eyes. Flack hovered nearby, distracted by the room's strange appearance. "What _happened_ here?" he muttered to himself.

"Help," the girl managed at last, letting Mac take her hand. It, too, was covered in blood but her boss didn't falter. "Adam needs help."

"Thank you." Mac rose to his feet and pulled her back up with him. "Show me."

**-x0x-**

They travelled down in silence. Elsa appeared to be heartily ashamed of her outburst and kept sniffing quietly, as though she could recall the tears and the swollen blotches that marred her face. Don Flack was clearly stunned, and content to observe the situation until he could get a handle on it. Mac was beginning to feel as though he had never woken up this morning. Maybe this was just some kind of vicious dream. Any moment now, the sun would come streaming through his curtains and he would open his eyes to start the day anew.

 _Wishful thinking,_ he told himself grimly. This was all too real.

"How badly is Adam hurt?" he asked the girl, as they left the elevator. Mac was surprised when Elsa turned and made her way down the empty corridor. Nothing much this way. Why would Adam be here?

"His head, I think." Her voice was clearer now, and her self-possession was returning. "And his shoulder. The scalpel... He asked me to pull it out and bring it to you. With the letter. Said it was a secret..." Elsa looked behind her fearfully. Don Flack smiled in return.

"S'okay," he said. "I'm a co-conspirator. I know all about that."

"Oh. Sorry." Elsa's face was still troubled. "Adam didn't want me to come back. Said I shouldn't get involved."

 _That sounds just like him,_ thought Mac. "I expect he was trying to keep you safe."

"I know." She gave a tiny smile, which faded faster than it had appeared.

Reaching the junction, Elsa hurried round the corner, announcing herself in reassuring tones. They followed her, full of expectation.

What they didn't expect was the look of utter shock upon her face.

Adam had gone.


	17. Chapter 17

Elsa's howl was that of a wounded animal.

"I knew it," she cried. "I knew I shouldn't have left him. Stupid, stubborn fool..."

"He _is_ stubborn," Mac said quietly, holding out his arms as she staggered. "And this is not your fault." He was startled by the strength of her reaction. Perhaps she had feelings for the cheerful lab tech? If Mac was honest with himself (and he knew that both Lindsay and Stella would back him up on this), he had never been terribly good at spotting the signs.

 _Call yourself a detective, Mac_ Taylor?

Elsa pulled back from his gesture of support and leaned against the wall instead, turning her face and her shoulders away in shame.

"There may be a simple explanation," offered Don, trying in his optimistic way to reach her with words instead. "He could have gone to Sid for help."

The girl's voice was bleak. "No. You think I wouldn't have done that myself? Adam insisted. Just Detective Taylor."

Don shrugged. "No harm in checking," he muttered, sounding oddly defensive. Mac nodded.

"Go," he said.

As Don hurried off in the direction of the morgue, Mac turned back to Elsa. She still refused to look at him but he could tell that she was listening. "Why did Adam come this way?" he pondered, as though to himself. Unsubtle, he knew, but even the clumsiest of pretences might offer the girl a way to break out of her defensive shell. He managed to hide his surprise when it actually worked.

Sliding round until her back was against the wall, Elsa peered at him sideways. "I'm not sure. He said something about smoke..."

That was it. The peculiar smell that lingered in the recycled atmosphere. Mac recognised it now - _as I should have done before._ "Smoke bomb," he said. "Adam was tricked." Looking up, he saw that someone had plastered duct tape across the nearest sensor. "And it was planned in advance. I wonder how they got him down here."

"Mac!" cried a familiar voice. Spinning around, he saw that Don had returned with Sid and - unexpectedly - Stella in tow.

"What's going on?" she demanded. "Don here seems to have lost the power to explain things in a coherent manner."

The subject of her complaint looked offended. "That's because no one's filled _me_ in yet," he grumbled.

Mac shook his head in despair. "Our 'friend' struck at last. Adam's missing. And wounded. There's another letter. And..." Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to explain the rest. Sharp-eyed Stella noticed his discomfort and toned down her attitude.

"Wounded how?" asked Sid, who was looking even more bemused.

Mac turned back to Elsa. Everyone followed his gaze - and the lab tech shrivelled. Sighing, her boss spoke for her. "Scalpel, apparently."

"Well, that's strange," Sid offered brightly, "because we've had several of those go missing from Autopsy..." He caught Mac's expression. "You knew," guessed the M.E. "Why am I not surprised?"

"I have my sources."

"Young Mr. Ross, I presume. Well, I can tell you that he hasn't been anywhere near the morgue since last night. Or early this morning. To be truthful, I'm not even sure _when_ he left. He was having such fun... Oh..."

Mac gave an urgent frown and Sid lapsed into silence.

"Adam was back at work this morning. I spoke to him myself."

"So then, we need to track his movements after that," suggested Stella. "Someone must know why he came down here."

"Don and I can do that. I need you to search every inch of this place. In addition to the stab wound, Miss Rivers thinks that Adam's head was injured. It may be that he simply wandered off in confusion."

"Not that you really believe it." Stella observed.

"I know I'm behind the game on this one." Sid shook his head, full of disbelief. "But please, allow me to help."

"Of course. Who would know this level better than you?" Stella laid her hand on his arm in a gesture of fondness and gratitude.

**-x0x-**

Trailing Mac back into his office, Don Flack wished that he could slam the door. Instead, he opted for closing it firmly and standing right in front of it, like an angry bouncer. "Right," he said. "Spill it."

"Spill what?"

Don unhooked one arm and waved it around the room. "This, of course."

Refusing to look at his friend, Mac shrugged. "Nothing much to say. The writer carried out his threat. A little harmless property damage. That's all."

"That's _all_?" Don stepped forward - but Mac held up his hand.

"We're forgetting something," he said. Lifting the letter from his desk, where it had been abandoned, he held it up. "And this one's addressed to me."

You had to admire the man's technique, Don sighed, and accepted Mac's change of subject. _Don't think I'm gonna let it drop that easily, though,_ he promised silently, as he reached out for the envelope.

Mac passed it over. Without a pause, Don ripped through the top.

"Hey...!"

"What? You don't got enough of these to examine? Besides, what did the last five teach you? Squat. We need to find out what it says, and fast." He pulled out the letter and handed it back to Mac with a charming 'forgive me' smile.

"You'd make a terrible CSI," Mac grumbled. Together, they placed the letter back on the desk and peered down at it. This time, there were two sheets, stained with tiny amounts of blood where the scalpel had sliced through the folds. The first piece of script was copied from some kind of document, inked in an elegant hand, as always.

_'Employment Policy_

_16.2 Each person considered for employment by the New York Crime Lab must undertake a psychological evaluation. No person may be employed as a criminalist or laboratory technician if they are deemed to have severe mental issues of a nature that may affect their work, or the safety of those around them. This includes, but is not exclusive to, hereditary conditions, post traumatic stress disorder, sociopathy or social dysfunction.'_

"Okay... what?" Don's face was the picture of confusion. But Mac had already moved on to the second letter and now he read it aloud.

 _'The final cut is yours.  
_ _Look to your favourite.  
_ _Dismissal_  
or death.  
You have until midnight.'

Mac caught his breath and stared up at Don. The words were terrible - and yet, a gleam of hope shone in his eyes.

"We've been looking at this all wrong," he said.

**-x0x-**

Sitting back on her heels for a moment, Stella ran the edge of her palm against her forehead. Right now, she was getting nowhere - and even that was taking far too long. Evidence in the corridor was scanty. A patch of grease. No knowing how many days that could have been there. Adam had skated through it, but was that his foe's intention, or merely another instance of the lab tech's well-known clumsiness?

Blood on the floor. That one was uncomfortable to process. Smears and prints showed Stella exactly where Adam had been lying, and where Elsa knelt when she tried to help him. Beyond that, she could learn precisely nothing. A single trail marked Elsa's path to the elevator. There was little spatter and no sign of castoff. Which meant that whoever had stabbed her friend had done it slowly and deliberately. That made Stella furious. She hoped, above all, that Adam had not been conscious when it happened.

A mysterious clanking drew the woman's attention away from her quest. Stella could not hold back the smile that rose to her lips as Sid came back around the corner, dragging a heavy metal step-ladder in his arms. She leapt up to help him.

"Is this tall enough?" he asked her pleasantly, accepting her gesture with barely concealed relief.

"Perfect, Sid." They opened the steps out into an 'A' shape beneath the vandalised smoke detector. "Any luck with your search?"

"I'm so sorry - no." Regret was in every word, and in the depths of his eyes. "Adam's not on this level at all. I looked everywhere."

"What - _nobody_ saw him? How is that possible?"

"This isn't a popular place." Sid gave a wry grin. "I don't know why. Perhaps the lingering odour of death?"

"There's no odour, Sid."

"You're too kind." Reaching out, he steadied the ladder as Stella began to climb.

"And you're a gentleman." She glanced down at him fondly.

He waved her remark aside. "Stella, can I ask you something?"

"Of course." Sensing the need in his tone, she paused and leant against the rungs.

"These letters... You've all had one?"

"We have."

"And - pardon my curiosity - what did they say?"

Stella grimaced. "They were personal, Sid. Malicious and nasty. They picked at our flaws and the way we approach our job."

The M.E. ducked his head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"Of course you should." Climbing down a step or two, she rested her hand on his shoulder. Sid was one of her favourite people and she couldn't bear to see him looking so uneasy. With a harsh laugh, she carried on, trying to sound flippant but coming across as strained instead. "I'm too proud. Danny's cocky. Sheldon has an ego the size of a planet. And Lindsay only sees things in black and white. Sound about right to you?"

Sid laid his hand on top of hers. "Of course not. But what about Mac? And Adam..."

"Adam is just the conduit. All of these letters came through him. I'm guessing the latest one is for Mac."

"But this..." He gestured to the blood on the floor. "Seems to me like Adam's more of a target."

Stella froze. Her free hand clenched around the rail as she saw, once again, the image of Adam pulling a pen from his mouth, with blood trickling down his chin.

Adam's face, every time a letter was opened.

Adam's face, as he looked at her...

She pushed that last one away, and tried to focus. Could Sid be right?


	18. Chapter 18

Wheels.

There were tiny wheels in front of him. And the most immaculate pair of shoes he had ever seen.

"Not the usual sort of thing I find on my rounds," said a calm voice.

"Um.. hi," ventured Adam, fighting against a wave of nausea as he rolled on his side and peered up at the stranger.

"Need some help?"

"Ah..." Adam blinked. Did he? Confusion was starting to spread through his mind like a fog. He remembered a girl... Elsa...

"Look," said the man. He was dressed in pristine overalls, and pushing a cart that was loaded with cleaning supplies. "There's a first aid kit in my office. And a couch. Do you think you can walk, if I help you?"

"I'll try." Adam's voice was small. So nice, to have somebody telling him what to do. Obediently, he pushed upwards - and gasped, as a streak of pain lanced down his back. Oh yes. Something else that he had forgotten.

_Help._

Weary and trusting, he held out his hand. "Could you pull me up?"

"I think so." The janitor crouched down and cradled his arms around Adam, lifting carefully, as the lab tech tucked in his knees and started to rise. Before long, he found himself standing, if not entirely upright, at least on both feet. The world spun sharply... and straightened.

"Thank you," Adam breathed.

"Of course." Reaching into his cart, the man pulled out a clean cloth and pressed it against the leaking wound on Adam's shoulder, stemming the blood flow. "Sorry," he said, as the lab tech winced. "I hate mess."

"You hate mess. Then I guess you're in the right job." Adam cracked a weary smile.

"Hold on to the cart. You can push for me," his unlikely Samaritan ordered, gesturing to the handle. All the while, he kept a firm grip on Adam. He was strong, and his confident manner was comforting.

"I'm Adam," the lab tech offered, sensing the need for some measure of politeness in this odd scenario.

"Marley."

"Oh yes - I see." Adam giggled, pointing to the letters on the janitor's breast pocket. They jiggled up and down before his eyes, like jumping beans on parade. He blinked. "I don't feel good," he confessed, as his grin slipped sideways.

"You're not going to throw up, are you?" The man's voice was filled with distaste.

"I... no. Sorry." Leaving the hated corridor behind, they turned down another passageway that ended in a single door. Maintenance. Adam had never been here before. Which was odd, considering the number of spills and messes he had caused over the years. Someone invisible always came and cleaned them up for him. "You're a super hero," he said randomly. Marley frowned at him.

"And you're not making sense. Did you hit your head?"

"I... someone. I don't remember. There was smoke." Adam smiled again, happy to have pinned down a memory at last.

Pushing the door open with his cart, Marley led the way into his domain. The scent of pine assaulted Adam as soon as he stepped into the room. So did the light, which dazzled him. Everywhere was clean, and white, and organised. Marley looked around with satisfaction.

"Come with me," he said, prising Adam's fingers from the handle and leading him across the room to yet another door. A narrow passageway, then _another_ door - Adam was feeling more and more bewildered. The place was a maze, and he was a rat. _A lab rat..._ He gave a dopey grin. _Sleep. I need sleep..._

Releasing him at last, Marley laid Adam face-down on a clean leather couch and placed a cushion beneath his drooping cheek.

"Stay there. I'll fetch the first aid kit."

 _Fetch help,_ thought Adam. _Elsa... What happened to Elsa?_

His blue eyes closed and the world went dark.

**-x0x-**

Elsa had found a hole to hide in. Crouching down in one of the shower cubicles, she yanked the curtain across and curled up into a tiny ball. The blood on her hands had taken moments to wash off, but the memory refused to be so easily dismissed.

_I should have been stronger. He'll hate me now. Unless he's dead..._

The thought was terrible. She started to cry again; great wrenching sobs that shook her whole body.

"Hey," said a quiet voice. "Please don't do that. Surely it's not so bad?"

Elsa looked up and dashed her tears away with a trembling hand. Lindsay's kind face peered round the curtain, full of sympathy. "Is it Adam?"

"What? What do you mean...?"

The abruptness of Elsa's reply startled the CSI. "I only meant - well, you found him, didn't you? That must have been awful. And choosing to go for help. That's always so hard. But Elsa, it was the right thing to do."

"He t-told me to do it." Her stupid voice refused to work properly.

Lindsay held out a friendly hand and pulled the girl from her hiding place. "This isn't your fault. Or his, for that matter. Someone is playing nasty tricks, that's all. We'll catch them. Why not come and help me? I've got mountains of evidence to run through. It might take your mind off things, at least for a little while."

Elsa flushed and lowered her head. "But my face... Is it obvious?"

"That you've been crying? Who cares? Stick with me. I'll look after you." Lindsay slipped her arm through the crook of Elsa's elbow and gave her a comforting squeeze. "Come along..."

The woman had such a definite manner that Elsa was swept through the door and back to the real world before she could think of a single way to say 'no'.

**-x0x-**

Adam drifted in and out of sleep. Time was a mystery to him. Had Marley come back? He didn't remember. All that mattered right now was this couch. It felt so soft beneath him. And the cushion - a tiny feather poked out and tickled his cheek. Adam snuggled down happily. Sleep was good.

"Let me look." The voice broke through his stupor. Adam prised one eye open with an effort - but the room was empty.

"Thank you. I appreciate it."

Sid. What was Sid doing there? _Am I dead?_ Adam tried to rise, but his limbs were too heavy. _No! I can't be dead..._ Were they coming for him?

A grunt, and the heavy clank of metal. "That's perfect."

"Just bring it back when you're done, Dr. Hammerback."

"Certainly. Oh - by the way. I don't suppose you've seen a young man wandering the corridors, have you? Adam Ross. He'd be injured."

"The lab tech? No. Why, what happened to him?"

"To be honest, I'm not quite sure. Ah, well. Thank you, Marley."

_Wait..._

Adam's thought was urgent, but his reaction was far too slow. The clanking receded and a door slammed shut in the distance.

Pushing upwards with an effort, Adam tried to rise from the couch.

_Marley lied._

Even through the fog, he knew for certain that this was bad. Really bad.


	19. Chapter 19

If anyone were ever to ask Mac Taylor what it was that he hated most about his job, the answer would be swift and unexpected.

Bureaucracy.

The hopeless tangle of red tape that fastened his hands behind his back far too often, endangering lives and turning simple procedures into a trial. Admittedly, Mac had learned to play the game, and even to win. But the fact that he was being forced to play at all made him sick to his stomach.

Like now, for instance. Here he was, with a colleague's life in jeopardy, and all he wanted was a list of names.

 _Not my department,_ said the woman on the other end of the phone.

 _Access_ _denied,_ said his computer in flashing red letters.

"Dammit!" said Mac, just as Stella walked into the room.

"Problem?" she asked him warily.

"Where do you want me to start?" he growled. When he looked up and saw her expression, however, he was forced to laugh out loud. Pressing a button on his keyboard, he sent the image from his personal computer up onto the main screen behind him. "Think you could do better? Because I'm hitting wall after giant brick wall - and what I really need is Adam."

Stella nodded in sympathy. "Tell me what you're looking for. Two brains are always better than one."

"Very well. Believe it or not, I'm trying to access the employment records for this department - not breach the firewalls of the NSA. Security is one thing, but really - I'm the head of the New York Crime Lab, for crying out loud! I _handle_ employment decisions. If I can't access the information, who can?"

"Are you sure your approach was... how shall I put this?" Stella's voice tailed off, as she searched for the kindest phrase.

"Stella. I was tactful." Mac's gaze pierced her like a gimlet.

"Of course you were. I just mean... Well, no one could deny you've been under a lot of stress." She glanced around the empty walls. "We all have. Lindsay showed me the state of your photographs." Stella's cheeks flushed in sympathy. "I'm so sorry."

"It's done." He shrugged. "What more is there to say?"

"Oh, I don't know. Shake your fist at the universe. Swear and curse about the unfairness of things?" Stella pulled a face. "Burst into tears?"

Smiling, Mac reached across the desk and laid his hand upon hers. "You know I don't do those things. Not on the outside, anyway."

"Mac Taylor - did you just 'share'?" She grinned in mock-astonishment. "Now I _know_ that something's wrong."

"What's wrong is this system." Once more, he changed the subject - but not before he acknowledged her support with a quiet nod. "Know any back doors?"

"I might."

He passed her the keyboard, but she pushed it away and reached for the phone instead. "I have a friend..." she told him, as she dialled.

**-x0x-**

Wobbling onto his feet at last, Adam wondered how on earth he was ever going to make it across the room. Unhappily, the decision was taken out of his hands altogether as he heard the sound of a key being turned in the lock. _I was a prisoner and I didn't even know it,_ he thought with great unease.

Moments later, Marley stood before him.

"You look terrible," the janitor observed. "I really think you ought to be lying down."

A gentle push was all it took to undo all of Adam's hard work. Flopping back down onto the couch, he lay there in a daze, like a beetle stuck on its back. "Hey!" he gasped, and then, "Ow!" as the wound in his back began to throb relentlessly.

"Poor baby," Marley whined. For the first time, Adam saw his composure slip. It was like a crack in the man's smooth mask, revealing the devil beneath.

"What's the matter with you?" he demanded breathlessly, struggling to sit up again. "Why did you lie to Dr. Hammerback?"

"Eavesdropping, were we?"

"Talking loudly, were we?" Adam retorted. Something about the man made him dreadfully uncomfortable, but he was determined to be bold. Finally, his headache was retreating, leaving him slightly more clear-headed - not that he wanted Marley to know that. He passed a hand across his eyes in a gesture of weariness.

"Concussion's a bitch." Marley smiled sweetly. "Sorry about that. Actually... no, I'm not."

"So it _was_ you." Adam glared up at him. "All this time, it was you."

"And now I expect you're wondering who I am." The janitor crouched down in front of him. "Have you ever seen this face before? Really seen it, I mean? I doubt it. You didn't even know my name until you read it from my _pocket,_ for God's sake."

"And that's why you've done all this?" said Adam in disbelief. "You're pissed 'cos you don't get recognised?"

With startling abandon, Marley broke into peals of laughter. "And here I thought you were meant to be some kind of genius. Turns out you're just a stupid fool who got lucky."

 _Not so lucky now,_ Adam thought. Marley's eyes were pale and cold, as his laughter died away and the mask fell back into place. He leaned in, and the lab tech was overwhelmed by the scent of disinfectant that clung to the man; a miasma of cleanliness and control. It made him gag.

"Taylor's going to let you go," Marley whispered, so close by now that Adam felt violated.

"Wh-what?" The lab tech tried to shrink back, but the soft couch was suddenly far too unyielding.

Marley lifted something sharp and silver into view, making Adam gulp in absolute horror.

The missing scalpel.

"No more crime lab. No more favourite. The final cut."

 _He's insane._ Adam gasped as Marley whirled away from him and began to pace up and down in front of the half-open door. _I'm in so much trouble..._

**-x0x-**

Mac watched in admiration as a long list of names rolled out of his printer, one page at a time.

"You have some pretty miraculous friends," he told Stella.

"Amen to that." The woman ducked her head, but her eyes were sparkling. Mac raised his eyebrows, sensing the hidden meaning behind her words but saying nothing. Instead, he pulled the sheaf of papers from the tray and began to flick through them.

"Is it what you wanted?"

"Perfect." Mac smiled grimly. "If I'm right, then somewhere in this list is our spiteful friend - and the key to finding Adam."

"You mean someone who works in the lab?"

"That's what I thought at first. But what if our writer never made it that far?"

"Rejection." Stella's eyes widened in understanding. "You dashed their hopes and now they want you to pay?"

"That's the theory."

"But what about the CSIs? And Adam? We have nothing to do with the employment process."

"Only this - you succeeded where the writer failed. You all have a job." Suddenly, Mac looked guilty. "I told him, Stella. Adam, that is. About your gesture, and how you bought him some time. The others were bullying him because he appeared to be a 'favourite'. I wanted him to understand."

"Quite right. Which explains why he's been staring at me lately. Is that part of it, do you suppose? The 'favouritism'?"

"Maybe..." Running his finger down the list, Mac started to scribble names on a handy piece of paper.

"But hold on a minute... If this person never got the job, then how are they managing to plant the letters? Or do so much damage?"

"Contacts. Friends or relations. They must know someone inside the lab who's helping them."

"That's our way in, then. Cross-reference the names of failed candidates with current employees."

"Candidates who failed because of their psychological review."

"What makes you say that?"

Pausing, he slid the final letter across his desk. As she read it, Stella's mouth fell open.

"Why didn't you show me this before?" she accused him. "It's practically a death threat! Time's running out, Mac, and all we're doing is looking at a list? We should be tearing this whole building apart with our bare hands..."

Just as Stella's tirade was gathering strength, there came a knock at the door.

"Ah - boss?"

The voice, and the wary face belonged to Danny. Don Flack stood behind him, looking nonchalant - with little success, as it happened, since Mac had already seen the detective tap on the glass and then slip behind his friend.

Standing next to them, Jacob Holt was tight-lipped and sullen.

"We thought you might like to hear this," Danny continued. Mac waved them in. For a moment, Jacob looked as though he would rather flee - but the two men moved to flank him, hemming him in until he stood before Mac's desk, cracking his knuckles nervously.

"Stop that," said Don.

Jacob looked to his boss.

"Please stop," Mac agreed. "Now. What did you want to tell me?"

"'Want' didn't really come into it." Don's voice was low and Danny stifled a chuckle.

" _I_ sent Ross down to the morgue," said Jacob. He shrugged. "Nothing wrong with that. Dr. Hammerback asked for him."

"Who told you so?" demanded Stella.

"Marilyn."

"Who's Marilyn?" For a moment, they stared at one another, full of confusion.

" _You_ know," Jacob sighed. "The janitor. Crazy name for a guy. No wonder he doesn't use it. But I think it's cool. Like Marilyn Manson."

"His surname better not be Monroe," sniggered Don. He turned to Danny yet again - but the CSI's jaw had dropped. At the same time, Mac stabbed his finger down on the list of names in front of him.

"No," he said. "It's Jenkins. Marilyn Jenkins."

Danny grimaced. "Commonly known as 'Marley'..."


	20. Chapter 20

Adam knew all about duct tape. It was strong and sticky, and perfect for binding victims. In the sterile safety of the lab, he had dusted it for prints many times, and matched the tear from sample to roll. But why had he never tried to imagine the pain and fear of being restrained in such a terrible way? Marley's hand was unforgiving as he sliced through the final piece of tape with his knife and placed it firmly across Adam's mouth. The lab tech's eyes stared back at him, mute with horror. More tape had been wrapped around his wrists, three times for extra strength, and Marley had folded the end for that little obsessive touch of neatness which made Adam feel even more afraid. One last piece had been spread across the wound in his shoulder - the only first aid that he was likely to get.

"You're dripping blood on the couch," was Marley's explanation.

Standing back, he studied his handiwork with an air of satisfaction. _Now what?_ Adam thought, trying not to panic.

With the sharp end of the scalpel, Marley began to scratch away any remnants of sticky residue from his fingernails. The process absorbed him. Turning away, he ignored the lab tech completely.

Adam imagined rolling off the couch and making a break for the door. In his mind, he made it all the way across the room before Marley caught him and slit his throat...

_Bad idea._

Lifting his bound hands, he tugged at the strip of tape across his mouth. The result was agony. _Beards and bondage - not a good combination._ Adam gave a muffled squeak as Marley turned around.

"Don't touch," warned the janitor, looming closer and pinning the blade against Adam's jugular.

"Mh-hm." Adam stiffened. _Okay. I get the message. So I'll just lie here, shall I, and wait for certain doom?_

_Or maybe a nice dramatic rescue?_

Once more, Adam heard Sid's voice in his head, and knew how unlikely _that_ would be. Elsa had played her part. They were searching for him alright - but in the wrong place. No one was coming to save him. Nobody knew he was there.

**-x0x-**

She hadn't meant to eavesdrop. Not on the boss.

Elsa fled down the corridor, slipping past her startled colleagues. Lindsay and the evidence were forgotten. Only one thing was on the young woman's mind right now. Adam. She had to save Adam.

Passing by Mac's open doorway, moments ago, she had seen the huddle and heard their revelation. _The janitor... Commonly known as Marley..._ It was clear from the look on their faces that they had found the man who took their friend.

Why didn't they move? Why didn't they rush to help him?

In the end, of course, they would. With guns and with anger. She knew exactly how that would go. She had seen it before.

Heedless in her desperation, Elsa began to run.

**-x0x-**

When Adam heard the outer door burst open, his heart soared. Surely this would be someone who could rescue him? Another janitor, perhaps, or Sid returning the ladder - or Mac? He wished with all his might to see his boss appear - but the figure that stumbled into the room was such a shock that he thought he must be delusional after all. How bad _was_ his concussion?

"You have to go," breathed Elsa.

Marley blinked and said nothing.

The young woman's eyes flicked across to Adam. He met her gaze, feeling stunned and oh, so stupid.

"They know it was you," she continued, turning back to Marley. "Why did you take him? That was never the plan."

"Why did you leave him?" The janitor's question was simple, but cold.

"If I'd thought for a second... Surely you've done enough? Stabbing Adam... I couldn't believe it. You swore he wouldn't get hurt this time. Only a blow to the head."

Marley shrugged. "I lied."

"But I did what you asked. You said it was just about the letter."

"I couldn't resist. It was such a perfect moment. Poor little lab rat, alone and helpless."

"You have to go," the woman repeated.

"Yes - you'd like that, wouldn't you? Elsa the heroine, tries to save her precious friend and nobody ever finds out what a coward she was all along." With the air of a man who knows his own mind to the point of suicidal stubbornness, Marley folded his arms and smiled down on Adam benevolently, like a father teaching his child. "People are false. Sad but true."

Closing his eyes against both of them, Adam was overwhelmed by sadness. _Why am I always so naive?_ Behind the tape, he held back a choking sob. _Why couldn't I see?_ Every word, every action of Elsa's over the past few weeks took on an ugly, blackened hue - the colour of disappointment and betrayal. _She was my friend..._

Elsa watched in despair as the truth sank into him like a poison, making him shudder uncontrollably. Marley's words, yet again, causing untold harm. " _You_ made me do it. What choice did I have?"

"You had a choice." Marley shrugged. "Dishonour or deceit. Don't blame _me_ for your weakness. I merely took advantage of your flaws."

"You bastard!" she snapped. Dropping onto her knees, she reached out for Adam -but he pulled away, his blue eyes wide open by now and full of anguish. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "If only you knew..." Elsa clutched his bound hands in her own and lifted her face to the unfeeling janitor. "Get out," she told him. "Leave us alone. It's over. Taylor is coming."

"Good," said Marley. "That's just what I wanted."

Striking out with a sudden, violent flourish, he tore the scalpel across her face. A bright red line appeared in stark relief and began to swell with blood. Elsa clapped her hand to her cheek and screamed in terror. Adam felt sick. Whatever the woman had done, he couldn't bear to see her being treated like that. Fuelled by anger, he swung his legs off the couch and surged to his feet, diving sideways at Marley and knocking the knife from his hand. They fell to the floor in a hopeless tangle - but Adam's hands were still bound and the fight was over in seconds. A couple of well-aimed blows to the face and gut was all it took. Dazed and horribly winded, the lab tech tried to catch his breath. Marley rolled him over and sat on his back with a smirk of triumph.

Leaning down, he whispered in Adam's ear.

"Who delivered the letters for you to find? Elsa. Who slipped the pen in your pocket? Elsa. Who caused the fight between you and that oaf? Your little friend, Elsa. Who was the spy in your camp all along?" He sneered at the woman, who crouched nearby, sobbing. "Elsa."

 _Why?_ Adam's eyes begged the question but she refused to meet his gaze anymore.

Standing up, Marley retrieved the scalpel and hauled the lab tech to his feet. "Leave her alone. She's worthless," he said.

And he dragged Adam from the room.


	21. Chapter 21

Sid was just about to make his first incision of the day when Sheldon Hawkes leaned over his shoulder.

"Gah!" The M.E. jumped. "Have you been taking lessons from Mac?"

"Sorry - no time for banter." Sheldon cast an eye around the peaceful room. "How quickly can you and your staff evacuate?"

"At the last drill, three minutes," Sid replied proudly. Catching the look on Sheldon's face, he paused. "But this isn't a drill, is it? What's going on?"

"I really can't say..."

By now, Sid had started to put two and two together. "Wait - is it Adam? DId somebody find him?" His voice was low. "I checked this whole floor, you know."

Sheldon bit his lip. His next words were careful. "Did you check the janitor's room?"

"Marley? Of course. He's such a polite young man..." Sid's voice trailed off and he lowered his glasses, shaking his head in dismay. "Oh, no. Don't tell me... Sheldon, I'm so sorry. Do you mean to say he was in there all the time?"

"I'm afraid so. Mac's preparing for a hostage situation. That's why they're clearing this floor. No telling how dangerous Marley might turn out to be if he feels cornered. Or what state Adam is in. Our only hope is to take the man by surprise."

"Of course." With a crestfallen air, Sid called out to Freya, who hovered nearby, holding a trayful of instruments and trying to eavesdrop without being obvious. "Put your brain to better use than spying, Miss Lindstrom. Set down that tray and begin evacuation procedures."

"Yes, Dr. Hammerback." Freya almost dropped the tray in her haste to make amends. "Sorry..."

**-x0x-**

They filed from the morgue in a stream of blue-clad bodies, silent and nervous. Other than Sid and Sheldon, nobody knew what was going on - until they saw Mac step out of the elevator, closely followed by Stella and Don Flack. All three were armed, and they all wore bulletproof vests. A rippled of agitation spread through the onlookers. Flushed with authority, Freya urged them into silence and glanced at Sid.

"All clear," she whispered. "I did a head count. Everyone's out."

Mac watched them leave without a word. When the line had disappeared, he turned to Stella. "Quietly, now. We don't want to tip our hand." He led the way down the corridor, placing Don in the rear since this part of the building was unfamiliar territory to the detective. Looking back, as if to reassure herself of Flack's comforting presence, Stella flashed him a worried smile. Don returned it grimly.

Mac could feel a river of sweat running down his back. _I blame the vest,_ he sighed. A clumsy precaution - but life was a fragile thing and all it would take was one little bullet...

 _We're here,_ he signalled.

They fanned out around the janitor's doorway, Mac and Stella on one side and the detective on the other. Don crouched down next to an old pair of steps that someone had left there, assuming Marley was out. Wobbling slightly, he almost knocked them flying. Just in time, Mac reached out with his hand and kept them from making a noise. "Sorry," Don mouthed, looking sheepish.

Mac folded his outstretched fingers, one at a time. _Three... Two..._ "Open up!" he yelled. "This is Mac Taylor. Marley Jenkins, I know you're in there. Send out Adam Ross and I guarantee, you won't get hurt."

Sounding far more confident than he felt, Mac hoped that his boldness would work. If Marley _was_ in there, surely he would see at once that capitulation was his only choice. The man was used to hiding in the shadows and venting his spite like a coward. That pegged him as someone who didn't have the nerve for full-scale violence...

The door swung open, making them jump.

 _Thank God,_ thought Mac.

His relief was short-lived, however. A sickening smell reached out from the room beyond. Mac recognised it at once, and his heart sank.

Accelerant. Alcohol based. Some kind of cleaning fluid, most likely.

The scent was so strong that it made him feel dizzy. Shaking his head to dislodge the fumes, he peered around the doorframe.

_Wrong, Mac Taylor. Very wrong._

Coward or not, Marley Jenkins was standing in the middle of the room. He was soaked to the skin, as was Adam, who knelt before him, head down and hands bound with tape, like a man awaiting his own execution. The lab tech's hair was dripping and his face was out of sight, but Mac could tell by the trembling curve of his shoulders that the poor man was terrified. All across the floor ran a trail of foul-smelling liquid that gleamed in the artificial light.

One of Marley's hands held a scalpel firmly against Adam's neck.

The other held a candle. It was plain and white, the kind that people usually kept for emergencies. Already, the tiny flame was beginning to creep down its blackening wick.

"Welcome," said Marley. "I'm glad you could join us." 

**-x0x-**

Adam's shame knew no bounds. Mac had found him at last - but now he almost wished that his boss had stayed away. His head was spinning and his gut was on fire - _bad choice of words -_ from the blows that Marley had heaped upon him but, even through the fog, he could sense how pitiful he must appear.

And Elsa. He could still hear her sobbing, somewhere behind him in the back room.

Marley seemed to revel in Adam's discomfort. _What did I do?_ the lab tech wondered bleakly. _Why does he hate me so much?_

Peering through his dripping locks, he caught a glimpse of Mac's face. It was white and full of impotent fury.

Marley's whole body clenched in delight - and suddenly, Adam knew beyond all doubt the truth of his situation.

 _It's not me. It's him. It's the boss._ Mac was the focus of all Marley's spite. _Then what am I?_ thought Adam fearfully. Deep down, a tiny voice piped up with the answer. 

_You're a dead man, Adam Ross._


	22. Chapter 22

Marley stared at the candle flame. His eyes were slightly distant.

Taylor was watching him, he knew. Time for the mind games to begin. His mother's voice filled his head, soft and persuasive. _They'll twist you with words. Remember the flame. Stay calm._

"I know who you are," said Taylor.

Marley's eyes flicked back into focus.

_Words. Nothing more._

"You don't know me." Full of scorn, he lifted his chin. "What an arrogant statement. As I recall, you never even took the time to meet with me face to face."

"When you applied for the job..."

"Three times. Did you know that? Yes, of course you did. The third time, I was so close. I had the skills and the experience. The dedication. My only dream was to be a criminalist. But _you_ turned me down. All because of a page full of words. From a woman who spoke with me for half an hour. What gives you the right to turn me away based on _that_?"

"The employment process is a complex one..."

" _He_ passed it." Marley stared down at Adam. The lab rat was swaying gently in the grip of the fumes that soaked his clothing, and his skin. The little that Marley could see of his face was white, with swollen patches where the janitor's fists had marked him. His eyes were closed as the conversation drifted over his head. "Adam Ross. I like him at first. He's different from the rest of you. I watched him. His flaws have nothing to do with pride, or power, or selfishness. They come from a place of hurt and fear."

Taylor nodded. "I agree. So why not let him go? Why hurt him now?"

_Words. Twisting._

Marley felt his logic slip. It frightened him.

"Because! Because he passed and I didn't. He fooled you. Don't you see? Deep down, he's just like me."

"He's nothing like you." The woman's voice came as a shock. She crouched beside Taylor, unseen, even now. Lurking. Sneaky.

"You _would_ say that." Marley frowned. _Women are false,_ said his mother's voice, _and men are deceitful. Only the flame is pure. Calm yourself, Marilyn. Don't let people hurt you. Look at the flame._

Inside his head, a five year old boy stared back at the woman who was his whole world. _Yes, mother._

"Ask me, that doctor was right on the money."

The third voice was quiet, and loaded with sarcasm. Marley's temper began to rise.

"Yes, that's right. If someone is different, why not just call them crazy? Obsessive. A freak. That way, you don't have to deal with the fact that you're even worse. You deny your faults. At least I see mine."

"You can tell yourself that, if you like." Taylor frowned. "We're not the ones who are doused in accelerant, holding a naked flame."

_Naked. Pure. The fire is your friend._

Breathing deeply, Marley stared at the light. It drew him in.

"All I wanted," he said slowly, "was to set things straight. To show you the truth. This place is tainted by lies. People are proud when they should be humble. Masquerading as sane when their world is driven by fear." He shifted the knife at Adam's throat and the lab rat hissed as pain cut through his stupor. A thin line of blood ran down his neck. Marley watched it for a while, entranced, until it reached his collar and spread to form an ugly stain. The janitor sighed. "Why didn't you let him go? _I_ put his name on that list, to help him. To set him free. But _you_ kept him on, and that corrupted him even further. Like a pet, he became your favourite..."

"No," insisted the woman. Her voice was firm. "You're wrong. I did that."

If Taylor was shocked by Marley's speech, he didn't show it. "Adam was saved because of his merits. Not because we ignored his faults. There's a difference."

 _Words again._ Marley shook his head. He felt rattled. _Look at the flame._

Taking a deep breath, he focussed on the sound of his words as the candle danced before his eyes. "You were my target - you and your CSIs, who think so much of themselves. Adam was my messenger. I chose him because I thought he would understand. I wanted him to see what I saw. I was wrong. He chose to see through your eyes instead and I hated him for it, almost as much as I hate you. He let me down. Now there's no more time - thanks to you. But I like it better this way. Because now you can watch. I'm going to give him one last chance. To be free, like me."

Dropping the scalpel, he took the candle in both hands and loomed over Adam.

_Fire is the purest element. Fire is the only thing that can scour our souls._

_Embrace it._

Deep in his mind's eye, twelve year old Marley watched as his weeping mother lit the match and held it to the hem of her dress. _Goodbye, Marilyn._

Tears filled his eyes. He blinked them away, and saw...

Mac Taylor, staring across the room in disbelief.

Stella, leaping through the doorway.

Turning, he saw the woman behind him. But he never saw the broom in her hands, or felt the blow that struck him down.

The candle rolled, and flickered... and roared.

**-x0x-**

Elsa had startled them all. She stood there now, with a dazed look on her face and hungry flames at her feet. The broom dropped from her nerveless grasp and rolled away to be devoured.

Moving almost without thought, Stella pounced across the slippery floor and wrapped her arms around Adam. Blue eyes stared up at her in shock, as she pulled him away from the writhing form of Marley Jenkins. "Don't look," she whispered, dragging him out of the room to safety. Adam's tangled fingers clutched at her sleeve as the flames raged behind him, snapping with fury to see the back of their prey. Reaching the bend in the corridor, Stella lowered Adam gently to the floor and ripped the tape from his mouth in one swift move. He yelped in pain.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Adam shook his head. Not necessary. _Thank you,_ his eyes said. Words could never be enough.

Suddenly, like a genie trailing smoke, Mac appeared beside them. Elsa's arm was draped around his shoulder. Her eyes were closed and she hung limply. Mac was the only force that kept her moving.

"Time to leave," said Don. A fire extinguisher dangled from his hands, completely spent. Above their heads, water began to fall like rain. Stella watched the droplets running down from Adam's hair and saw him shudder. She tightened her grip on the man.

"Jenkins?" Mac said quietly.

Don shook his head.


	23. Chapter 23

Adam stood in his favourite spot and watched the clouds pass over Manhattan. Now and then, a ray of sunshine would break through, turning steel and glass into gold with a single touch.

_I love this city._

Lifting one hand absent-mindedly, he placed his fingertips on the window, letting the coolness seep through his skin. A twinge of half-remembered pain ran down his shoulder at the movement. Adam ignored it. A week was long enough. No more time off. At home, his thoughts had been terrible company. Here, there was work to distract him.

And friendship, of course.

She strode down the corridor, confident as ever, catching him in her sights and holding him there until she reached his side.

"Adam!"

"Stella." He nodded bashfully. "I'm back..." _Witty,_ his brain said. _Sparkling. Well done._

"So I see." A ray of sunlight caught her, right through the glass, making her eyes shine. "We missed you. It's never the same when you're away."

"It's quieter?"

She laughed. "Something like that."

Suddenly very aware of his wayward hand, Adam let it fall to his side, biting his lip to hold back the gasp that was sure to follow. Stella watched him gravely. "Sore?" she said.

"Oh - no. I mean... yes, a little. It's okay. I can work," he added hastily.

"I won't tell." Her wink made him blush. Ducking his head, he tried to hide it.

"Adam..."

What was that tone in her voice? Surely not uncertainty? Puzzled, he glanced back up at her. Stella's face was worried. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a letter...

"What?" he gasped.

"No! Oh no, I'm so sorry, Adam. I never thought... This is for you. I was asked to deliver it."

"Who's it from?" With fingers that trembled slightly, he took the pale blue envelope. Deep down, he knew the answer already.

"Elsa," she said.

"Okay." He toyed with it nonchalantly, trying to hide his nerves.

"You don't have to read it right now," Stella added. "Find a quiet place. Make sure you're ready. I'll be around if you need me afterwards."

 _So kind._ "Wait! I... I need to thank you," Adam blurted out, as the woman turned to leave.

Spinning gracefully on her heel, Stella shook her head. "You don't. Just seeing you back here is enough." Pausing in front of him for a moment, she seemed to falter. "Adam. Tell me something. How much do you remember? From that room, when Marley... when he was talking to us?"

 _How much? Too much._ Every single night, when darkness crept into his room.

"Hardly anything, really," he said out loud. Stella looked doubtful.

"It's just that... Some of the things he told us... Mac and I looked into them. And there's one thing we thought you should know."

Curious now, in spite of himself, Adam hung on her every word, his blue eyes wide.

"Adam, Marley was a hacker. A really good one, as it turned out. It wasn't just Danny's email account that he managed to access. He found his way into all manner of secret places. One of those places... Well, I have a friend in the employment office..."

"Stella, just spit it out," he urged her.

She smiled. "Alright. That letter you got, a couple of weeks ago. It was never meant for you. Marley found the list and put your name on it. 'To help you', he claimed. It was passed on down the chain and nobody noticed." Stella looked at him sharply. "Do you know what that means?"

"Marley's a jerk?" he offered uncertainly.

"No, Adam!" The laughter in her voice was heavenly music. "Your job is safe. Nobody wanted to let you go. You're not the low man on the totem pole after all..."

He tilted his head and returned her smile, full of quiet delight. "You know," he said, as they strolled down the corridor, side by side, "I looked that up. A lot of people think the lowest place on a totem pole is the most important, not the least. If that's true, then either the boss man got something wrong at last - or I'm the head of the New York Crime Lab."

"Don't let Mac hear you say that." Stella pushed at his arm. Adam winced... and grinned.

**-x0x-**

Later that day, after several hours of work had settled his nerves, Adam took his break and slipped away to the locker room, hoping to find some privacy. Leaning against the wall in a quiet corner, he pulled the letter from his pocket. The envelope had curved to the shape of his body by now, and it felt warm to the touch. On the front, his name was scrawled in hesitant, childish capitals. Blue ink this time, not black, and without the elegance of Marley's penmanship. Adam felt strangely comforted.

Taking a deep breath, he tore the letter open and began to read.

_Adam._

_You must think I'm a horrible person. I'm so ashamed of the things that I did. I've been lying here in this hospital bed for a week now, churning it over in my mind. One thing I know for sure is this - I owe you an explanation. That doesn't mean you need to see me. I don't suppose for a moment that you'd want to. But Detective Taylor suggested I write it down instead. He says you're a kind-hearted man. I've seen that too. Which makes my actions even worse. But perhaps if you know my secret, you won't hate me quite as much as you probably do right now._

_I know that you thought I was your friend. I wanted to be. Maybe things could have been different, if Marley Jenkins hadn't tried to ruin our lives._

_My life. That's the hold he had over me. I knew him before, you see. He lived in my building for a while - and he remembered the scandal that rocked my family three years ago. We moved away from the neighbourhood and changed our names, our jobs - everything we could possibly do to erase the shame of what my father did. He robbed a bank. Even now, I can hardly believe it. And that's not the worst thing. There were hostages in the building and he killed them all, every one, before killing himself as well. That was such a dreadful turning point in my life. The media wouldn't leave us alone. It drove my mother to distraction. She's never been the same since. And my friends disappeared overnight. So we took the cowardly route and ran away. Ever since then, I've lived in fear of discovery._

_Somehow, I managed to get a job at the crime lab. Nobody guessed who I was - and suddenly I was happy. I had a purpose, and friends who could look me in the eye without flinching. Then the letter came. The first one was for me, you see. Marley had spotted me, and knew at once who I was. He pulled me into his nasty game by threatening to expose me, here at the lab, and call the media down on our family. A bank robber's daughter. Working here at the crime lab. Scandal! I loved my job and I couldn't bear to see the look on everyone's faces. Not again. So I made a choice. It wasn't the right one, I know, and I'm prepared to face the consequences. But if you could see my mother, even now, you might begin to understand._

_I never knew what he wrote in those other letters. All I had to do was deliver them without getting caught. I put the pen in your pocket, it's true, but he never told me why. I begged him not to hurt you and he lied to me. He said that you would be safe. I don't know why I believed him. On that last day, before he lured you down there, I almost gave in and told Detective Taylor everything. But I was such a wreck by then, I couldn't bring myself to do it. I made an excuse, and walked away. If only I hadn't. I'm so sorry, Adam, for everything I put you through. And for the lies. You trusted me and I let you down. Now I'll never see you again. Which is a punishment in itself. You may not know it, but our short friendship was the best one I've had in a very long time. I'll miss you. But I won't be coming back. Stella came to see me and she promised to pass this letter on to you. I know she'll do it and I'm grateful for her kindness._

_I saw what you did, in that room, when he cut my face. That proves what I knew all along. You're a good man, Adam Ross. Forget about me. Get on with your life. You're surrounded by friends and whatever that madman said in his letters, you know the truth. They're good people too._

_I'll miss you._

_Forgive me, if you can._

_Elsa Rivers._

Adam released his breath in a long, slow hiss. Such relentless honesty. He pictured Elsa, sitting alone in her hospital bed, trying to make him understand the reason for her betrayal. Saying goodbye...

**-x0x-**

Mac looked up, surprised by the gentle tap. Adam stood in the doorway, hopping from one foot to the other. "Boss?"

"What is it, Adam? Are you feeling okay?"

"Me? Oh, I'm fine. That is... I know I've only been back a few hours but I was wondering..."

This was exactly what Mac had missed - though he'd never admit it, nor did he understand why. Perhaps that was the secret of Adam's charm. It hooked you in and, before you knew it, you couldn't remember what the place was like without him. Odd, but true. "Get to the point," he told his visitor firmly. Adam grinned.

"Sorry. Some things never change, do they, boss? Especially me. I wondered... could I take an extra hour for lunch? There's somewhere I need to be."

Mac glanced down at the lab tech's hand, which curled around a pale blue envelope. "Take all the time you need," he said.

**-x0x-**

Adam stepped out of the main door, onto the street. Above him, the sky was blue. Not a cloud was left, and the sun shone out with joy above the soaring towers. People were everywhere, flowing through the city in a constant stream. Slipping into their midst, he lost himself in blissful anonymity. The letter was still in his pocket. Every now and then, he brushed against it with his fingers.

Elsa would be so pleased to see him.

Happy at last, Adam smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> I had better make it clear right from the start - these spiteful letters do not express my own opinion! I'm very fond of these characters. Writing mean things was so hard when I actually came to do it. I felt guilty!


End file.
